Unknown and Unknowable
by ohmyenemy
Summary: "The Stranger was neither male nor female, yet both, ever the outcast, the wanderer from far places, less and more than human, unknown and unknowable." A look into how Arya's life may have differed had she been born the elder Stark sister.
1. Arya Horseface

He had been in Winterfell for less than 24 hours and he already wanted to kill himself. Never had he seen such an ugly castle and he'd spent time in the ruins of Harrenhal. It was nothing but dirt and straw and mud and snow. Even his brother seemed less than thrilled about their current predicament. "Northern whores not up to your standard?" he drawled, watching as his brother approached him, wearing several layers of thick furs to combat the Northern climate.

"A bit horse faced," admitted Tyrion. "And they all smell of wine and haphazard hygiene."

"That's never stopped you before," said Jaime, leaning forward on his elbows against the balcony. He was overlooking the training grounds to see what old Ned Stark had produced in the North and he was less than impressed.

"I didn't say it stopped me," his brother replied with a smile, following his gaze into the muddy training yard. "What are we looking at?"

They weren't looking at much. A handful of young men were practicing striking dummy targets with wooden swords while another group practiced archery. The only remotely interesting bit was the handful of Stark children he'd spotted, seemingly sparring with each other. Most notably was what appeared to be a Stark girl, her gender only apparent from her garments, with dark hair that barely reached her shoulders.

But it wasn't her gender that had caught his attention, but rather her skill with the dual blades she currently wielded. They were wooden, admittedly, and likely only weighed a few pounds each, but she used them with speed and purpose that far outmatched her opponent. It only took a few moments and a hard elbow to the temple before Robb Stark was down in the mud, looking annoyed by his position but not particularly surprised.

The girl only had a moment to gloat before Robb hooked his foot behind her ankle and pulled, sending her toppling face first into the mud beside him. "Found yourself some Starks?" asked Tyrion, his eyes finally landing on what had caught his brother's attention as the girl seemed to be attempting to strangle her brother in the mud. Tyrion watched as the bastard finally managed to pull her off her brother, her limbs still swinging wildly as she tried to break free, but she was laughing all the while.

That was until all of the Stark children froze and turned horrified expressions to their mother, who had caught them out of the castle. Catelyn Stark was a very loud, very angry woman, and even from their spot on the balcony they could pick up words like 'king', 'shame', 'respect', and even 'Lannister'.

Robb was the first to leave, nearly sprinting away from his mother when she tried to grab him by the ear, and the rest were quick to scatter afterwards. The Lannister brothers only had to wait a few seconds before they heard loud, heavy footsteps traipsing up the stairs and a muddy Stark girl appeared before them. Tyrion instantly recognized her as the elder of Lord Stark's daughters, but Jaime had paid much less attention to the Stark family tree. "My lady," Tyrion greeted with a bow when the girl seemed too surprised by the sight of them to do the same.

"Lord Tyrion," she replied, Arya, if he remembered correctly. "Ser Jaime," she added, her eyes darting to his brother for a brief moment before she fell into an awkward curtsy, throwing a glob of mud off her skirts that hit the ground with a 'splat'. "I hope you are finding Winterfell to your liking."

"Not particularly," said Jaime before Tyrion had the chance to answer.

Grey eyes met green as she cut her gaze to his and Jaime couldn't help but notice how similar she looked to Ned in his youth. The same eyes, the same hair, the same dour expression as she looked him over. She had inherited little of her mother's beauty and he doubted that a bath would make the girl any more attractive. "That is unfortunate," she told him. "A blessing, then, that you will be returning to your home so soon. If you'll excuse me."

"Of course, my lady," said Tyrion, throwing in another bow to make up for his brother's rudeness as the Stark girl brushed past them and continued on to her chambers.

"I see what you mean about horse faced," muttered Jaime, doing little to hide his commentary from the girl who was not too far removed to hear it.

Arya's jaw tightened as she stood outside the door to her chambers, an overwhelming desire to whack Jaime Lannister across the head with one of her practice swords bubbling up in her belly. But her mother would box her ears for sure if she accosted one of their Lannister guests while the king was in Winterfell. Instead she pulled off one of her boots, slick and heavy with mud, before flicking it backwards, watching as the mud flew off her shoe and back towards the Lannister men, splattering beautifully across the older's clean, white cloak. "Oh, apologies, my lords," she called, channeling her best Sansa impersonation as Jaime turned his irritated gaze her way. "I had already forgotten you were there."

With that, she kicked off her other boot and gave the pair a much more confident curtsy before disappearing into her chambers.

* * *

"How you managed to cut all of this on your own …" her mother trailed off, holding a fistful of her hair and looking at a loss for what to do with it.

Truthfully, she hadn't cut it on her own. It had been Jon who'd helped her hack off the waist length locks her mother had never allowed her to shorten, but she'd never tell them that. Her mother disliked Jon Snow quite enough without attributing her eldest daughter's rather masculine appearance to him, as well.

"I saw the queen wearing plaits," her younger sister supplied, appearing in Arya's line of vision with loose plaits of her own and in a dress Arya remembered taking her sister weeks to make. "Perhaps small ones, connected in the back," she suggested, tugging on chunks of her sister's hair to give her mother an idea.

Arya fought back the urge to smack her hands away but made a mental note to exact revenge for this later. Sansa was always more bold when their mother was present, and gave her older sister a smug look as her mother set to braiding her hair.

Though the reason for the feast may not have been her favorite, Arya would never turn down a reason to eat. Or a reason to drink, and tonight, more than any other, she knew she would be able to get away with drinking more than the usual cup of wine she was permitted for dinner. In fact, she was on her third when Robb leaned over to her. "What d'you reckon they're talking about?" he asked her, jutting his chin up to where her mother appeared to be in deep conversation with the queen.

Arya'd never seen a woman quite like Cersei Lannister before. Beautiful women, of course, but none who looked so golden and pristine. She couldn't imagine what life was like in King's Landing, or what a woman like her may have to say. "Suitors for Sansa," she supposed, her mouth still full of the roast as she spoke. She stole a glance toward her sister, who'd chosen to sit a few feet down, next to her friend Jeyne, and who was casting glances up toward the yellow haired prince.

"Sansa can't have suitors until you do," he reminded her.

"Looks like it'll be you marrying the little princeling," Theon said with the smile that never seemed to leave his face.

She returned the smile as she scooped her spoon into her peas and lifted it, pulling it back and flicking them at him. "Not bloody likely," she grunted, looking over Theon's head toward where Prince Joffrey sat at the high table. He didn't have any noticeable physical deformities, but marriage had been the one thing she'd always dreaded growing up. At fifteen, with her flower "blossoming", as her mother would say, years ago, she was certainly of marrying age, but her father had not pressed for it. She had met no suitors and she couldn't imagine her father would marry her off to some Lannister prince who would take her from the North.

But as she watched them, the queen's eyes landed on her and she watched her with muted interest for a moment before leaning over to say something else to her mother, who smiled before meeting Arya's eyes, as well. Her stomach plummeted into her shoes and she quickly stood, hoping if they couldn't see her, they'd forget she existed and couldn't make any plans for her future.

She could hear Robb calling after her but ignored him, desperate for the cold air to clear her head and ease the knot in her stomach. The great hall was so cluttered, she had to duck and dive between dozens of Northmen, even passing by the King himself sitting out amongst the people, a Northern woman with massive breasts sitting atop his lap. She glanced over her shoulder as she walked to see him bury his face in the woman's chest. She shifted her eyes to the high table, wondering if the queen could see this occur, when she smacked right into someone.

She opened her mouth, an apology forming on her tongue, but it dissolved away when she realized who it was. Her eyes trailed up the length of his intricate, golden armor to find the equally golden man. "Pardon," she muttered, barely loud enough for him to hear it as she moved to go around him. Jaime followed her movements to block her path. "Excuse me," she said more firmly.

"Am I keeping you from another mud puddle?" he wondered, watching as her jaw clenched and overly thick eyebrows knitted together.

"Have you something important to discuss with a horse faced Northern girl?" People had been calling her Arya Horseface for years and it had stopped bothering her long ago. Sansa was the beautiful one, she always had been. "Or has everyone else at the feast already grown weary of you and you're so desperate for companionship you've resorted to blocking my escape?"

"A bit mouthy, aren't you," observed Jaime. The comparisons between Ned and his daughter seemed to stop at appearance. He'd known Lord Eddard Stark for over a decade and had probably shared fewer words with him than he had in the past thirty seconds with his daughter. He was almost grateful that not all Starks were so monosyllabic.

"Ah," said Arya, her eyebrows rising and falling. "The latter, then."

"I do hope you'll be less unpleasant on the King's Road," he said. "A month is a very long time for … this." He gestured vaguely at her, watching as confusion spread across her features. "Ah, haven't they told you?" he asked, a smile forming as he stepped aside to finally let her pass. "You're to come to King's Landing."

* * *

 **A/N:** Please don't take this story as any hate against the Arya of the books or as some sort of desire to replace Sansa. I love both of them dearly dearly dearly, but I'd always found the notion that Arya wouldn't survive Sansa's circumstances and vice versa quite interesting. Arya's path in this story will of course differ greatly from Sansa's arc in the books, but I wanted to explore what Arya's life might have been like if she'd been unable to pass for a little boy on the day of Ned's beheading.

Okay, okay, and I also totally wanted to be able to give her proper romances. Let me live.


	2. A Very Impressive Little Girl

It had not taken him long to find her that morning. He wouldn't call his sister predictable, necessarily, but she had certain routines when she was angry and he could only imagine her fury at learning she'd be taken from Winterfell, from the home she'd always known, and dragged to the capital to be paraded about in silk dresses until she could secure a suitor. He thought it fortunate the dummy target that found itself on the receiving end of her ire could not bleed. Even Nymeria, barely more than a pup, tore into the base of the target, letting loose her most fearsome snarls.

"Who-" Jon fell silent as she spun around at the sudden noise, one of her wooden blades slipping from her grasp and smacking dead against his ribcage. Someone else may have rushed to his side with frantic apologies, checking to see that he had not been grievously wounded, but Arya gave him a look that screamed _that's what you get for startling me_. He bent to retrieve it for her, ignoring the ache in his side that would surely bruise. "Whose face were you envisioning?"

This was not a question he usually need ask. Most days it was Sansa and the rest it was Robb, but the disheveled top of a broom lay discarded at her feet and he did not suspect the yellow straw was coincidental. "Kingslayer," she grunted, confirming his suspicions.

"I don't expect Father will allow you a sword in the capital," said Jon.

Something far removed from anger flashed across her face. His sister had never wanted to be a lady, not even as a child. For as long as he could remember, she'd had dreams of being a knight. To pick up a sword like her father and go off to battle. To leave Winterfell and go South was the death of that dream and he could see the pain of that loss etched into her every feature. "No," she said. "I don't expect he will. D'you think the Night's Watch would make an exception for me?"

"Give me a few years to become the Lord Commander and I'll make it so," he promised.

Relief washed over him as she cracked a smile, finally taking her practice sword back from him. "I could be a ranger like Uncle Benjen," she said. It wasn't a knight, but it would do - especially when the alternative was marrying some fat little lordling and spending the rest of her years popping out heirs. "I'll hunt wildlings and Nymeria can hunt shadowcats."

"Uncle Benjen says there's a wildling who keeps one as a pet," said Jon.

"Varamyr Sixskins," she recited. Arya remembered all of the stories her Uncle told her about beyond the Wall in great detail. The wildling was a skinchanger, able to warg into three different wolves, a snowbear, a shadowcat, and an eagle, earning his moniker. Arya could only imagine what it would be like to warg into Nymeria - to see what she saw, to feel what she felt. She thought perhaps it best she couldn't as she didn't think she'd ever want to be herself again after.

Jon watched as the sadness crept back over her face. "I'll miss you," he told her, but that only seemed to make things worse as she dropped both of her practice swords in favor of embracing him, burying her face in his chest to hide the tears that were threatening to fall. He wrapped his arms around her quickly, pulling her impossibly closer and resting his chin atop her head.

They stayed that way for a long while, but the sound of a woman clearing her throat pulled them apart. Jon met Catelyn Stark's cold, disapproving gaze and did not hesitate to pull away from his sister. Arya seemed keen to protest, but he shook his head, slipping away without a fight. "Why do you treat him like that?" she demanded. A question she'd long wondered and long avoided asking. She knew Jon Snow was a bastard and she had no expectation of love from her mother, but she didn't have to be cruel.

"I pray you will never understand," her mother replied. "Come."

Arya followed her mother up to the chambers she and her father shared. The safest place in all the Seven Kingdoms, Arya thought, sitting on the edge of the fur lined bed next to the warmth of the crackling fire. She watched as her mother hesitated over a pile of blue fabric before holding it up to reveal a Tully blue dress, one that even now, merely held against her chest, did wonders for bringing out the blue of her eyes. It would not give Arya's slate grey eyes the same treatment, she was certain. "A dress?"

"This was the dress I wore when I met your father," said Catelyn, a smile on her face as the memories of that day passed over her. "I've had it hemmed, of course, and I want you to have it." Arya could only think of how much better it would have suited Sansa. It would not have had to be hemmed for her. It would have made her eyes shine like sapphires. "I know this is not what you want. I was not ready when it was my time, either."

"You weren't ready to marry Father?"

"Heavens, no, I was terrified," she admitted. "But it was my duty as it is yours. With a bit of luck, you will love your husband as much as I love your father. That wouldn't be so bad, would it?"

Arya had long imagined her future husband as some long, wrinkly, tentacled thing. Part kraken, part Old Nan. But if she married a man like her father, a man like her brother Jon … "No," she said quietly. "But the prince is not-"

"The prince?" her mother demanded. Theon had teased her relentlessly about her future husband. "Oh, my sweet child, you will not marry the prince. He and your sister are both still too young to be married, so in a few years, when they're both ready … but you, you're ready now."

"I won't marry the prince?" asked Arya. Catelyn shook her head solemnly, unaware to the relief washing over her daughter. "Who will I marry then?"

"A highborn lord," was all her mother could say. They had no prospects for Arya, not yet.

Arya was busy trying to recollect all of the noble houses and their lords to see who she may be stuck with. She doubted they would marry her to her Uncle Edmure and she hoped she would be spared the indignity of marrying her sniveling, little cousin Robert Arryn. Theon was the closest in age with her and the Greyjoys were, to some extent, considered a noble house, but he was a ward. There was Renly, but her father would not waste both his daughters on the same Baratheon alliance. She had heard enough tales of the Red Viper to hope for him, but Oberyn Martell was near a decade older than even her father. That only left the Lannisters and the Tyrells, but Willas Tyrell was a cripple and Tyrion Lannister was … well … she thought she'd prefer her cousin to the whoremongering Imp.

Her stomach was in knots when the door to her parents' chambers flew open and Ser Rodrik stood in the frame. "My lady," he said, sounding out of breath. "There's been an accident, your son …"

* * *

"What if he dies while I'm gone?"

She hadn't spent enough time with him. She'd said her goodbyes to Jon, to Robb, even Theon. But she'd had no heartfelt goodbye with Bran and now it seemed likely she'd never get one. Her last memory with her brother would be out shooting his bow in front of father. She felt a lump grow in her throat and tried fruitlessly to swallow it down. "He won't," said Robb. "He'll wake up and recover and come to King's Landing to be a knight."

Her eyes were burning now. "No, he won't," she said. Bran would never walk again. She'd heard Maester Luwin telling her father so. Neither she nor Bran would ever fulfill their dreams of going off to battle.

"Arya," said Robb, suddenly much closer as he squatted beside her chair. She hastily rubbed her arm across her eyes to wipe away the tears that had welled up before he could see them. "He will outlive us both, I promise." He pressed his lips firmly against her brow, the whiskers on his chin tickling her nose. He pulled back, meeting her eyes for just a moment, before looking beyond her, over her head to where a fire was blazing in what appeared to be the library. Only then could he hear the shouts of panic from outside. "I'm sure it's nothing," he told his sister when she turned to see the fire, as well. "Stay with Bran."

She had no qualms with doing just that, grabbing his hand and running her thumb across his knuckles. His hands were so small, even smaller than her own, though if he survived, he would likely surpass her in height soon.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Arya snapped to attention, eyes quickly finding the man who stood mere feet from where Bran slept. He wasn't a Northman, she was certain, but he didn't look like any of the men the King had traveled with, either. "Neither are you," she told him plainly. "Go see to the fire that's started."

It was a command, one coming from the daughter of the Warden of the North, but the man didn't move. "It's a mercy," he said, pulling a dagger and advancing on her brother. "He's dead already."

"No," said Arya, her first and only instinct to put herself between her brother and the man. She was greeted with the back of his hand and she hit the bed hard, feeling like her brain had been knocked loose, before something tightened around her hair and yanked her back up. She could see the blade coming to her throat and there was little she could do but throw her hands up to stop it. It tore into her palms with more pain than she'd ever felt and hot blood poured out of her hands and down her arms. His hand was against her mouth and she opened wide to bite down on his finger with all the strength her jaw possessed.

The man let out a yelp and threw her, sending her head first into an armoire before she went sprawling to the ground. His footsteps were heavy as he approached her spot on the floor and her vision was blurry as she searched desperately for anything within reach. The base of a tall candelabra was all she could find, and she took hold of it, swinging it around to where she hoped the assassin stood. He caught it easily, effortlessly, she hadn't the strength to make it hurt, but he had dropped the blade in favor of the iron candelabra and it had fallen not far from her feet.

They saw it at the same time, but she was quicker and she didn't hesitate in lodging it into the fat of his calf, then his thigh, his stomach, and finally into the side of his neck. He was still alive, still gasping for breath that would never come, blood bubbling on his lips. She yanked the blade forward, tearing out his throat with surprising ease, and blood spurted out of his neck across her face as he plummeted, finally dead.

Arya slumped to the ground with him, trembling. Blood was all she could see, all she could smell, all she could taste. She wiped desperately at her face, trying to stop it from going in her mouth and her eyes, but she did little but mangle his blood with her own. "Arya," a voice called and Robb was with her again. "Get Maester Luwin!" he shouted at someone she couldn't see.

She could hear him approach and fall before her and soon felt him wiping something soft against her face, doing what he could to clean the blood. When she finally managed to open her eyes she found him searching her frantically, trying to see where the assassin's blood ended and hers began. He was only before her for a short moment before he was pulled away and her father took his place. Ned scooped her up into his arms and she knew she was safe as he took her to Maester Luwin.

* * *

Tyrion whistled cheerfully as he approached the breakfast spread laid out before his siblings. "Little brother," greeted Jaime, a hint of a smile on his lips as Tyrion lifted Tommen, eliciting a giggle from the young prince, before moving him to the side so he could take his seat.

"Beloved siblings," he returned, avoiding Cersei's gaze as she watched him with mild disgust as he found any scraps of bacon yet remaining on the table.

"Is Bran going to die?"

It was Myrcella who'd asked, always the sweetest of Cersei's children, he thought. There was a genuine concern in the young girl's eyes that her mother would never be able to imitate. "Apparently not," he answered.

Myrcella smiled in relief but Cersei looked concerned. "What do you mean?" she wondered.

"The Maester says the boy may live," said Tyrion, watching as his siblings exchanged a rather interesting look. "Despite the attempt on his life."

The table sat in uncomfortable silence for a long moment before Jaime finally asked, "Attempt?"

"An assassin sent late in the night," he answered. "They set a fire in the library in the hopes of pulling everyone away from the boy, but fortunately his sister never left his side."

"They're both alive?" Jaime asked incredulously. How had a crippled, unconscious child and a young girl survived an assassination attempt? Tyrion nodded his confirmation, his mouth full of bacon. "The little one stopped an assassin?"

Tyrion thought Jaime's question was flawed. Arya was the older sister, but she was considerably smaller. "Arya, yes," he said. Jaime's eyebrows quickly shot up. "She didn't just stop him, she killed him. With his own dagger, I've heard. These Starks are proving difficult to kill."

"Must've been a piss poor assassin," muttered Jaime, glancing at his sister as she guided Tommen and Myrcella away from the table and rising to his own feet, though he had no intentions of following her. She would be a bundle of nerves, prone to paranoia and violence, and he thought it best to give her time to cool off before trying to reassure her that the boy would not be a threat to them.

He was nearly to the door before his brother called out to him. "Or a very impressive little girl."

It seemed an odd twist of fate that he should find the girl, not moments after discussing her. He had thought she'd be on bed rest, like her brother, and their return to King's Landing would be delayed again. Instead he found her sitting on a fence outside of the stables, her direwolf rolling about at her feet. She looked paler than the last time he'd seen her, the bags under her eyes a deep, sunken shade of blue and a particularly nasty bruise was forming on her cheekbone. Her hands were bandaged, but she still held a dagger, trying to roll it between her fingers and wincing at each and every movement. "Was it your first time?"

She must've recognized his voice because she didn't look up, rather hesitating a brief moment before continuing with what she was doing. She was silent so long Jaime thought, perhaps, she intended to ignore him, but finally she answered, "Yes."

"You'll cut your hands to ribbons with that," he told her, watching as she accidentally nicked the tip of her finger with it and dropped it, bringing her finger into her mouth. He bent down and picked it up, offering it back to her. "It's Valyrian steel."

She had been eyeing him with a look of resentment but now her eyes went wide as she looked the dagger over. "How do you know?"

Jaime decided not to tell her he'd seen that blade before. "Do you see the little rippled patterns?" he asked, watching her closely as she brought the steel near up to her nose to observe it. "Like the steel has been folded over itself a thousand times." Finally seeing it, she nodded, shifting her eyes from the steel to his own. "That's one way to tell. The other is that it's bloody sharp."

"Is that why it tore through his throat so easily?"

It was odd to hear the girl speak so casually about the man she'd murdered the night before, but he nodded. "It cuts through bone like flesh and flesh like it's water," he said. "That's why you shouldn't use it until you know how." The resentment that had left her quickly found its way home again as she gave him a dirty look before focusing on her hands again, rolling the hilt of the blade over her knuckles. "The guilt will pass," he told her, turning on his heel to leave her.

"Why would I feel guilty?" she asked.

"It's no easy thing to take a life," said Jaime. "It weighs heavy for years."

"He would've killed my brother. I would kill a thousand men to protect my family and feel no shame."

Jaime searched for a hint of bravado but found none. She wasn't trying to convince him, or even to convince herself. She meant what she said and as he looked in her eyes he could not find the guilt or regret he'd expected. _Not like Ned Stark at all,_ Jaime thought. Perhaps his brother had the right of it after all.

* * *

 **A/N:** Tell me your favorite Arya ships! Crackships definitely included. :)

I know that this chapter isn't too exciting or different from the books, but as this is the last time she'll be seeing some of her family … ever … :( … I didn't want to skip or rush through it. Stick with me and things will start changing more from the next chapter.

 _Special thanks to:_

 _ **Lauren Bull:**_ I'm glad someone else loves the concept! Of course Arya and Gendry are one of those "proper romances" I was talking about. I hope I do them justice for you. Thank you so much for the review!

 _ **Flaversei:**_ It's so exciting to hear someone is actually enjoying it! I hope you continue to. Wondering about Arya's height is not trivial at all! I think her size is actually part of her character and who she is. Learning how to fight and be strong despite being small is not something I'd want to take away from her, so no, I would consider her to still be around Maisie William's height (5'1). Thank you for the review! :)

 _ **Celticank, Morning Songbird, Guest:**_ Thank you so much for your reviews! I hope you continue to read and enjoy. :)

 _ **Karlandra:**_ Of course there will be Gendrya! :) And yes, definitely direwolves too. Thank you so much for the review, I hope you'll keep checking in to see how things differ from the story!


	3. What Daughters Are For

The thistle bit at her legs as a hostile reminder that she didn't belong here, and that she was not welcome.

 _That's what daughters are for, Ned_ , she could still hear the fat old king say. _Marrying off, forging alliances._ She chopped and swung at the weeds at her feet, imagining Robert Baratheon's fat head, but she came up with pollen instead of the blood she had wanted and a powerful urge to sneeze cut her assault short. It was a violent sneeze and it sent her swaying; she plopped down into the grass rather than fighting it and Nymeria was quick to do the same, nipping at the blades nearest her mouth.

It had been a week in King's Landing and her father already had a suitor lined up for her. Some lord from the Vale named Harrold Hardyng who was meant to rule the Eyrie if by chance her sickly little cousin Robert died. She was meant to be meeting him now and that was why she found herself out in the gardens where she was certain no one would find her. At least not until poor Harrold Hardyng ran out of patience and left to return home. She could only hope he'd tell every eligible lord in Westeros what a terror she was and then perhaps her father would give up on this whole marriage idea and let her return home.

Hearing a rustling in the grass, she fell onto her back, grateful, for once, to be so small and easily hidden. Pleased to find her master's face so accessible, Nymeria shifted her attention from eating the blades of grass to licking Arya's eyelids and nostrils. "Stop it," she urged the wolf, pushing the great beast away. But Nymeria was a pup no longer and not so easily moved so she continued on diligently with her work, licking her chin, her hair, and down to her ears as Arya tried to stifle her laughter. "Nymeria-"

The wolf moved so sharply Arya's breath caught in her chest and she pushed up to her elbows to see what had startled her. "Not the best hiding place," Jaime commented, eyeing Nymeria warily. Though she did not want to, she placed a soothing hand on Nymeria's back to be certain she would not attack. "Up you go, Stark," the knight murmured, hooking his hands beneath her shoulders and lifting her to her feet.

He turned from her, stepping through the grass without glancing back to see if she was following. She took a step back instead of forwards, wondering if she'd be able to outrun him. He was considerably taller, admittedly, and took much longer strides, but he was wearing heavy armor. As if reading her thoughts, Jaime glanced over his shoulder at her. "Couldn't you pretend you didn't find me?"

"I could," he said, watching as the hope splayed out across her features before he yanked it away. "Would you prefer to be found by Ser Meryn or the Hound?"

"I'd prefer to not be found at all," she corrected.

"Then you should've left the castle grounds," said Jaime. "How long did you imagine you'd stay hidden within the Red Keep?"

Admittedly, Arya had not expected her father to dispatch anyone who knew their way around the castle grounds. Jory would not have been able to find her so quickly, nor any of the men he commanded. She knew Jaime Lannister was unlikely to let her slip away so she reached down to pick up her wooden practice swords that Syrio had given her. Jon had been wrong to assume her father would not permit her a sword in the capital. It seemed that the Braavosi swordsman had been a peace offering, something to will his daughter to actually leave the her chambers. It had been unlike her to remain in bed so long her first few days and he couldn't bear to see her in such a way, despite having told Catelyn he would do what he could to curb her interest in swordplay.

"Two of them?" asked Jaime, glancing down at the wooden practice swords in her hands before searching the tall grass for her sparring companion. It took a moment before he remembered her tussle with her brother in the mud and dirt at Winterfell and how she'd fought with two blades then, as well. "It's not often you see someone attempt dual blades. The last I saw was-"

"Ser Arthur Dayne," she answered before he had the chance.

"A hero of yours?" he wondered.

"My father says he was the greatest swordsman to ever live," Arya told him. He had insisted the Dornishman was far superior, though her father had defeated him in battle. Arya never understood that, but he had long been one of her heroes. "He says there was never a knight with so much skill or honor."

Good old Ned wasn't wrong about that. Jaime had always wanted to be Arthur Dayne but he'd lost himself somewhere along the way. "It was skill that afforded him the right to forego a shield," said Jaime. "A skill I doubt you in equal possession of."

The little Stark girl gave him a dubious look. "I'm better than any of my brothers," she told him, as if being better than green boys who'd never gone off to war meant anything. "Why would I want a shield? Two swords, twice as deadly."

"Until you run into an archer," he replied. "How do you plan on stopping a stray arrow from tearing through your throat?"

Jaime flicked his finger into her throat for emphasis, causing her to smack his hand away and give him a dirty look. She opened her mouth to answer, the perfect solution on the tip of her tongue, and yet … "Well, how did he stop them?" she demanded instead.

"Never got the chance to ask him," he answered with a shrug.

"You knew Arthur Dayne?"

"He's the one who knighted me," said Jaime, feeling uncomfortable with the current topic of conversation. It was not an easy thing to look back at the boy you were when you were so certain you had not become the man he would've wanted to be.

He could see the girl out of the corner of his eye looking up at him now with a much different look than she'd been giving him earlier. "Did you ever spar with him?" she asked from his elbow. "Did he teach you anything? Could you show me?"

"No," was all he said.

The girl stopped following him as soon as he said it, falling several steps behind him as he continued to walk. With a sigh, he turned around to see what her problem was only to have a sword tossed at him. He caught it easily, much to her apparent disappointment. "He must've knighted you for a reason," she insisted. "Show me."

Clearly Ned had not been singing his praises as he much as he had other knights. Jaime had never sparred with a woman before, and certainly never a girl that came up no higher than his elbow. He could only imagine what Ned might say if he stumbled upon Jaime Lannister crossing blades with his daughter. Robert would have even worse to say. "I said-" Arya gave him little chance to deny her a second time as she lunged forward, swinging her sword down at his arm. With a flick of his wrist, Jaime had deflected it away from himself and sent her stumbling to his side. "You're not a very good listener," he told her.

"I know," she replied with a smile, lunging for him again, but this time going for his leg. It was better than her first attempt, but he still had little difficulty in redirecting her, hitting his blade into hers so hard her hand throbbed. She dropped the hilt into her other hand and swung again, this time aiming for his head.

Disappointed with the strategy, he struck hard enough now to knock it from her hand. "You're short," he told her as she bent to pick it back up. "Stop trying to be tall." She looked up at him curiously, waiting for him to elaborate. "Don't go for the head or torso. I'd bleed out just as quick if you nicked one of the arteries in my leg. Less armor there, too."

She nodded curtly and Jaime smiled as he watched her circle him, her brow heavy as she actually paused to consider what her next move should be. She'd have made a better squire than any he'd had before. At least a more keen listener, he thought, as she swung at his ankle this time. He stepped backwards and out of her line of fire before aiming his own sword for her head. He was pleased when she ducked under it and swung again, aimed at her head once more.

Growing more confident, Arya followed what she'd learned from him and threw her own sword up to block, but the wooden stick did little to lessen the blow that thunked into the side of her head and sent her sprawling into the dirt. Jaime prayed to the Warrior that it would not bruise, but he knew it would. "You're not strong enough to block," he told her. "Best to dodge."

He had expected a dirty look and certainly a few tears, but the Stark girl merely nodded. "I'll remember that," she assured him. The throbbing in her head would not soon be forgotten. He watched as she struggled to her feet, swaying as the world around her spun. He caught her by the elbow before she got too unsteady and held her in place as she went from seeing three of him to only one. "Thanks," she said, offering him another toothy grin as she stepped back and away from him and lifted her sword, ready to continue.

Jaime marveled at how quickly the girl's resentment for him had faded. He'd never had a particularly pleasant interaction with any Stark or even Stark bastard. Even this one had seemed to dislike him from the start, but she smiled at him now, looking at him as if he were some sort of mentor, eagerly awaiting another lesson from the man Arthur Dayne had deemed worthy of knighting. "Go," he told her.

"What?" asked Arya, refusing to drop her guard, remaining light on her feet in case he was trying to distract her before swinging at her head again.

"You don't want to meet the Hardyng boy," he said. "Go. I couldn't find you."

Arya was overcome with an urge to hug the man before her but she was quite certain he would not appreciate that and she didn't want him to change his mind. "Thank you," she said, more earnestly than Jaime could stand. He grunted his acknowledgment, handing the other practice sword back to her and turning back to the Red Keep so he wouldn't see which way she ran off.

* * *

 **A/N:** Did anyone start this chapter wondering if they had missed one? I didn't think a fifteen year old Arya would've been out sparring with Mycah, so no dead butcher's boy, no dead Lady, and no missing Nymeria. This is the first of the major changes Arya's story will experience as the older sister, I hope you enjoy having some more direwolf action. :)

P.S. I know that Arthur Dayne actually fought with Dawn, not with dual blades. However, I'm a sucker for that shit and the show gave him two swords, so I decided to have that be canon for this story.

 _Special thanks to:_

 **Birdy1210:** I definitely agree that Arya would be a perfect fit for Dorne. I'd honestly never considered her with Edric Dayne before but after a bit of research, I've realized this is actually a pretty popular ship! I may have to reread some of his scenes to see how I'd write him as I definitely have plans to include the Brotherhood in the future. :)

 **Bloodshark:** I hope you're happy to see Nymeria happy and alive in King's Landing! :) I've never really considered Arya/Dany before! Honestly Dany is probably my least favorite female character, so I doubt I'll include much of her in this story, but I can definitely help you out with the other ships. :) I'm glad you're enjoying Arya with Jaime cause there's definitely more of that to come. Thanks for the review!

 **Lauren Bull:** I totally agree about Ned and Cat being a bit dumb about the dagger, but I suppose that's part of what made them so lovable. Arya is much smarter and now that she's in possession of the dagger, things will definitely go differently. I'm so glad to hear you enjoyed her battle with the assassin! I hope you'll continue to enjoy and thank you so much for the review! :)

 **Guest** and **hellscyther:** Thank you so much for sharing your favorite Arya ships! I'm thrilled Jaime/Arya is at the top of both of your lists! I'll see what I can do to include the others in some facet. :)


	4. The Cripple

She had been three days from the Red Keep. At first she'd only hoped to stay hidden long enough to avoid meeting her suitor, but then she'd gotten lost. Flea Bottom was not the easiest place to navigate for a highborn girl and the winding, narrow streets had confused her. The longer she was from the castle the more she feared repercussion. It was one thing to disappear for the afternoon and another thing entirely to be lost for days.

She hadn't eaten since breakfast three mornings prior and the simple shirt and trousers she'd been wearing were now covered in mud, piss and shit. She doubted they would even let her in to see her father if she made her way to the castle. By the time the fourth morning rolled around, the situation had grown dire. She had little on her to trade apart from her Valyrian dagger and she was nowhere near desperate enough for that.

Instead she focused on what she'd learned from Syrio. He'd told her every swordsman should study cats. They were as quiet as shadows and as light as feathers. You had to be quick to catch them and Arya was quick. If she could catch a cat, she could catch a pigeon. It had taken her no time at all to catch one and break its neck, but trading it off for something better had proven more difficult. "Can I have one?" she asked a shopkeeper who had a range of tarts on display. Her stomach ached at the sight of them.

"Three coppers," he answered briskly, barely sparing her a glance.

"How about a fat, juicy pigeon instead?" she tried, holding the bird up on display. The man cut her a look now and it was not a friendly one. He stepped toward her harshly and shoved her away from his stand, not wanting her raggedy appearance and stench to repulse anyone who had the coin to make an actual purchase.

She wandered Flea Bottom for over an hour carrying that stupid pigeon and no one had shown the least bit of interest in it. Desperate, she'd taken to entering shops instead and had been met with similarly negative results. Smoke and heat hit her hard as she entered the next shop and she coughed loudly as she tried to wave the smoke from her face. "What do you want?" an impatient voice called from further in.

"Have you got any food to trade for this pigeon?" she asked, holding it up higher as she paused to glance around the shop now. It was darker than most apart from the fire in the corner lighting it up. All around her were swords and shields and the boy who'd greeted her was holding a large hammer. "It's really fat."

"This is a smith's shop," he told her blankly.

She had realized that now but she'd already gotten further with him than she had with most. All of the other shopkeepers had thrown her out at the sight of her or tried to hit her with brooms. "You still have food, don't you?"

"What do I want with a pigeon?"

"Well, you could eat it," she said.

" _You_ could eat it," he countered, looking at her like she was stupid. She felt stupid, too.

"I don't want to eat a pigeon," Arya explained, but that didn't make the boy stop looking at her like she was an idiot.

"Neither do I," he said, thinking this was an awfully picky street rat. She was as thin around as one of his arms and he thought she ought to be eating four or five pigeons, not refusing the one she had. Her face fell at the rejection and she nodded, turning to leave the shop. "Come here," he called after her, regretting it as soon as the words left his mouth. With eyes as wide as saucers and filled with more hope than he could stand, he knew he couldn't change his mind now. He reached behind him and grabbed a loaf of lopsided bread, his lunch, and tore it in half, offering the larger portion to her. He could almost see her mouth watering even in the dimness of the shop and she was quick to offer her pigeon to him. "Keep your damn pigeon," he grunted.

She let the bird drop in favor of grabbing the bread with two dirty hands. She didn't hesitate in shoving as much of the bread into her mouth as she could and her eyes rolled back as she swallowed it. "Thank you," she said before taking another massive bite. "I'll pay you back, I promise."

"You going to bring me a rat next time?" he asked.

Arya glared at him, opening her mouth to tell him her father was the Hand of the King and could offer him a great deal. She knew he wouldn't believe her. "You'll see," she told him instead. "What's your name? So I may find your shop again to thank you."

He didn't think he wanted to be thanked by this girl. It was bad for business for a girl like her to be within the shop. They catered to the likes of Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell. Neither lord could've stomached being in the shop alongside her stench. "Gendry," he answered all the same. "But my master's Tobho Mott."

"D'you know the way to the Red Keep?"

"Well you're on the Street of Steel," he told her. "You could follow it to Fishmonger's Square then take the Muddy Way-" Gendry stopped himself short upon seeing the look of confusion on her face. What kind of gutter rat didn't know her way to Fishmonger's Square? It was the best place to get scraps of food for free. For that matter, who in Flea Bottom couldn't find the Red Keep? "Or you could go to the Sept of Baelor," he said and she nodded now, having seen it quite clearly before entering his shop. "There's a path straight to the Keep from there."

She smiled before shoving the rest of the bread into her mouth and thanking him again. She was gone a moment later, leaving the dead pigeon on the floor, much to Gendry's annoyance. It didn't take long at all for her to find her way back to the Red Keep now that she had directions and she was brought before her father shortly after. "You know I had half my guard looking for you?" he demanded after releasing her. The sight of her had been enough for him to lose all resolve and pull her in for a hug, but he was furious with her. "Robert sent the Kingsguard and half the goldcloaks and no one could find you."

"I got lost," she told him, truthfully enough. She decided to leave out the bit about Jaime Lannister finding her and sending her out of the castle grounds.

"They said you came from Flea Bottom," said Ned, examining his daughter for any signs of abuse. She was covered in things he thought best not to ask about, but she seemed unharmed aside from a dark bruise along her cheekbone. "What happened here?"

"I tripped on some steps," she lied.

"Why did you leave?" he asked. She'd been happier after he'd brought Syrio Forel to her. Arya's mouth fell open as if she intended to tell him before changing her mind. "You didn't want to meet the Hardyng boy," he guessed. "He was a good match, Arya. Lost to you now. You'd have been the Lady of the Vale someday."

"I don't want to be that," she told him. "I don't want to be a lady."

Ned sighed as he pulled away from her in favor of sitting behind his desk. "You leave me with little choice," he told her. "I know it's not what you want but it is your duty and great or small, we must all do our duty. Do you understand?" Arya set her jaw, unwilling to answer. "I will find you other suitors and you will meet them. You will be bathed and scented and you will wear a gown. You will curtsy when you meet them and call them 'my lord'. If you refuse, you will have no more dancing lessons with Syrio. I will take that sword your brother had made for you and have it melted down. Do you understand?"

* * *

It had been near a month since the Stark girl had gone missing from the castle and he had not seen her since. His place was with the King and often with Ned Stark, and while he caught sight of the younger girl fairly often, always trailing after Joffrey like a lovesick pup, he never saw Arya. Not until now. The hallway outside of the Hand's chambers was dimly lit, with only a handful of candles and the moon above to light it, but he could make out her small frame, standing atop a set of steps on one leg, with each of her arms outstretched and holding a heavy wooden sword.

A thousand nasty comments sprung into his head, each meaner than the last, but she beat him to it. "Shut up," he heard her call before he'd even had the chance to speak.

"It's a hard fall down those stairs," Jaime replied, watching her wobble where she stood. He could see her arms trembling and knew she couldn't do … whatever she was doing for much longer.

"Syrio says every hurt is a lesson," said Arya, smiling despite the throbbing in her arms, "and every lesson makes you better."

Jaime had no idea who Syrio was. Jaime also didn't particularly care who Syrio was. "How long have you been up there?"

"Syrio says a proper swordsman rises with the sun," she told him, glancing out the arch of the wall to see where the sun had long set. As if on cue, she could feel her stomach cramping up, reminding her that it was empty.

Hearing the name again irritated him and he wasted no time in drawing his own blade, bringing it down hard onto one of her practice swords. She was too weak and too tired to withstand it and dropped the blade, losing balance and toppling down the length of the stairs, rolling to a painful stop at his feet. He watched her groan on the floor and felt quite pleased. "You must be much better after that lesson," he remarked, smiling when she swung a tiny fist into his shin. "I've come for your father."

"He's not here," she grumbled, rolling from her back to her knees before forcing herself to stand. Her legs were throbbing and she would've given anything to sit and rest but that wasn't how you got stronger. "Why d'you need him?"

Jaime hesitated in sharing what was supposedly good news. "It seems your brother is awake," he said, watching as she stopped rubbing her bruised ass to gape at him. "They say he'll make a full recovery."

"Now that he's better will he come to live with us?"

"A question better put to your father," he replied, turning on his heel quite intent to leave her and the current conversation very far behind him.

"He wanted to be a knight of the Kingsguard," he heard her mumble to herself and found himself hesitating, looking over his shoulder at where she stood. "He can't be now, can he?"

"No."

If ever a girl had worn her heart on her sleeve, it was Arya Stark. Or at least she wore it in her eyes, expressing more emotion in a look than any Lannister had ever shown in their entire life. "Can girls join the Kingsguard?" If her brother could not do it, she would fulfill his dream for him. Jaime shook his head. "If you became Lord Commander you could change the rule."

"Ser Barristan would have to die for me to become Lord Commander," said Jaime. "You'll be married long before that happens."

"Not likely," she said, letting out a huff of air. "I've met a dozen lords and none of them have wanted to marry me."

Jaime's brow raised. She was the daughter of the Hand of the King, the Warden of the North, and one of the oldest Houses in the realm. It would take a special kind of stupid for any lord to refuse her. "Why not?" he asked.

"Sansa says it's because I'm ugly," explained Arya. Jaime thought it wisest not to comment on her appearance either way. "Septa Mordane says I don't know my courtesies well enough, but I'm trying really hard," she told him earnestly. "Have you ever met Willas Tyrell?"

"The cripple?" asked Jaime. He'd met the boy in passing at a handful of tournaments years ago, but nothing beyond that. "Not since Oberyn Martell dropped a horse on him. Why?"

* * *

The man who stood before her now resembled nothing of the monstrosity Jaime had promised her. He stood tall and regal, with a straight nose and cheekbones that looked as if they'd been carved from marble. His eyes were warm and reminded her of chocolate, with cropped hair but a few shades lighter. He did not possess the full beard she had come to expect from her suitors, but the journey from Highgarden left him with whiskers spread across his jaw.

Somewhere nearby she heard her father clear his throat. "My lord," she murmured, realizing she'd been silent for too long. She grabbed her skirts, the blue dress her mother had given her, and fell into a proper curtsy, eyes darting to her father for approval before falling upon the man again.

"Willas will do just fine, my lady," he said. Arya thought he was awfully soft spoken to be the heir of the second richest House in Westeros. "May I call you Arya?"

Her eyes found Ned again. "Yes," she answered after seeing his nod.

Willas had a keen eye and had noticed how many times Arya Stark sought her father's counsel before speaking. He'd counted at least four since the moment he'd walked into the room and he did not think the number would dwindle as their conversation continued. "Lord Stark," he said. "As lovely as your chambers are, I had hoped to see the gardens. I've been a long time from the city."

Arya'd had nearly two dozen suitors in her time in King's Landing and none had asked to leave the Red Keep. Ned supposed none of _them_ were the heir to Highgarden and exceptions would have to be made. "Of course," he said. "I'll summon-"

"I had hoped," Willas repeated, interrupting Ned so politely the older man scare noticed he'd done it, "your daughter to be the only one to accompany me." As if on cue, the door to his chambers opened and servants brought in a tray covered in biscuits, sweets, and tea. "It is difficult to get to know one another with an audience."

Arya had suspected her father to refuse. It was not common to trust a lord alone with one's daughter, especially when she was an unwed maiden. Perhaps he grew wary of the growing number of lords who'd refused her. Perhaps he did not find Willas Tyrell a threat with his walking cane. Arya may have found the man's slow pace irritating had she not been balancing a tray filled with sweets, careful not to spill anything, as he led her out into the gardens.

Willas must have known her father would not refuse. A large blanket was laid out before them, covered in at least two dozen pillows, sat beside a large fountain filled with water lillies. As Arya carefully sat the tray down and sat atop the blanket, she could only think of how Sansa would've died from jealousy if she could see her. With a smug smile, she grabbed a lemon tart from the tray and shoved it into her mouth for good measure. "You like lemon cakes," the man observed from beside her.

"Not really," she answered, her mouth still full as she chewed. "My sister likes them."

"Your sister Sansa," he said. "I hear she likes dresses and chivalrous knights." Arya shrugged her shoulders, already regretting bringing her up. She was certain Willas would have preferred to have brought Sansa to the gardens. "I hear you would rather _be_ that knight."

Arya could feel her face growing warm. Why did her ambition feel embarrassing now before this man when she'd always felt proud of it before? "How do you know so much?" He seemed to know a lot about her family and she knew so little of him.

"My grandmother is a very calculating woman," Willas explained. "She would not send me unwitting into any situation."

Arya wished her father had been so forthcoming. All she knew about Willas was that Oberyn Martell had dropped a horse on him and she didn't think that was the best topic of conversation. She didn't even know who his grandmother was to comment on her. "What is Highgarden like?" she asked, focusing on the only thing she did know about him.

Willas smiled, thinking that was a loaded question. "In Highgarden there are fields of golden roses that stretch away as far as the eye can see. The fruits are so ripe they explode in your mouth-melons, peaches, fireplums, you've never tasted such sweetness. The walls and towers are covered in ivy and grapes and climbing roses. It's filled with statues, colonnades, fountains, courtyards, arbors … a visit would be better," he said. "You should have a taste of summer before it withers away."

* * *

 **A/N:** A quick update! I hope anyone reading is willing to stick with me through the earlier chapters. There's a lot of down time and a lot of time for meeting new characters and building up relationships. Things will get more exciting down the road. :)

 _Special thanks to:_

 **Guest:** I didn't realize how much I ship Jaime and Arya until I started writing them. I'm totally here for them, so I'm glad you enjoy the ship too. Thank you so much for reviewing, and here's the update you asked for! :)

 **Lauren Bull:** Harrold Hardyng is a total fuckboy! Only Sansa would be able to handle him because she's got the patience of a saint. I totally get what you meant about not shipping Arya with Jaime romantically. He's done a lot of horrible things to her family and while she may not know about them yet, she'll probably get to know about them in the future. I agree Arya's loyalty to House Stark would make it difficult for her to put what he's done aside. Jaaaaaiiimeee however …. his feelings might be more complex. :P

Never stop rambling! I love long reviews and hearing what you really thought about what I wrote down. Thank you so much for another interesting review! :)

 **Celticank:** Your wish is my command! Here's a quick update. :)

 **1MoreInMe1:** Ah, this is a short but really nice review! I love so much that I've made you want her as the oldest sister! I hope you continue to enjoy and thanks for the review!


	5. The Hand's Tournament

No expense had been spared for the Hand's tourney. King Robert had staged it in her father's honor. High lords and fabled champions had come from all over the realm to compete, and the whole city had turned out to watch. The splendor of it all took her breath away: the field of pavilions along the river with a knight's shield hung before each door, the long rows of silken pennants waving in the wind, the gleam of sunlight on bright steel and gilded spurs. The day was rung to the sounds of trumpets and pounding hooves, and the night would be full of feasts and song.

She was sat between her father and Willas Tyrell, though it was difficult for her to stay in her seat. She was on her feet every time the two horses reached each other, clinging to the wooden barrier as the her heart hammered against her ribcage. Then her father would grab her round the waist and pull her back to her seat and Willas would offer a consoling smile as they waited for the next joust to begin. It was her favorite day in King's Landing by far.

"Your brother is good," she told Willas appeasingly, though it hurt to do so. Jory had won three jousts before facing Ser Loras Tyrell and it had not been a long match.

"As was your man," Willas replied, his voice gentle and kind. "He's a very skilled rider."

"He's even better with a sword," she said, smiling and feeling less sad about Jory's loss.

Her eyes went wide as the largest man she'd ever seen rode out on a black horse. Though the horse itself was quite big, she couldn't imagine how it held up the mountain of a man. His horse came to a stop almost directly before her as he threw his helmet open to pay his respects to King Robert. His opponent did the same, though there was less of note about this man. "Yes, yes," she heard Robert grumble from a few feet behind her. "Enough of the bloody pomp, have at it!"

Arya tried to force herself to remain seated as the two men lined up their horses and began to charge. Her breath caught in her chest as they both raised their lances but only one connected. She could hear her sister's scream and the gasps of the crowd and then a loud thud as the smaller man hit the ground below her, a piece of the other knight's lance protruding from his neck as blood bubbled up and pooled out of his mouth. Her father grabbed her arm reassuringly, but it was Willas beside her who took up her interest.

His entire body had tensed and his jaw had set. His lips formed a thin, tight line and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides. She didn't understand the reaction; the dead knight who was currently being dragged from the field was from the Vale. He had no connection to Willas. She placed her hand atop his fist all the same, knowing she ought to. Arya watched the Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed and then forced a smile, opening his hand to take hers, brushing his thumb across her knuckles.

"Bring back old memories, my lord?"

Arya glanced over her shoulder to where Ser Jaime stood in his white armor and white cloak, guarding the fat, old king. It was only then that she remembered the last time they'd spoken. _Not since Oberyn Martell dropped a horse on him._ She hadn't understood what Jaime had meant then, but it was all coming together now. _What an ass_ , she thought angrily. "Why is it you're not fighting in the tourney, Ser Jaime?" she asked when it became clear Willas intended to ignore the man. "Getting a bit old for it?" Her father pulled her back round to face forward but she could hear the king laughing behind them.

Jaime smiled at the back of her head. He could tell she was still fuming just by how she held her shoulders. "Jousting is three-quarters horsemanship," he said, not entirely sure why he was continuing to provoke her. "The only other skill you need is the strength to lift your lance. Astounding that some men can't even do that."

To the many listening in on the conversation, it sounded as if he was speaking of the boy who'd just fallen. Arya knew better and rounded around on him again sharply. "An easy boast to make from the audience," she snapped.

Jaime opened his mouth to respond, something witty and cutting to contribute, he was certain, but both his comment and his smile left him as the cripple leaned in and whispered something in her ear and she turned round to face forward again, her hand still in his. She'd have likely goaded him into joining the joust if they'd gone on for much longer, but it wasn't fun for him now.

The cool morning breeze gave way to the midday sun as the competition narrowed down to two final rounds. Arya might have been sad the processions were ending had that not meant the archery and melee tournaments were next. She thought Willas might tense up again when it came time for his brother to go against Ser Gregor Clegane, but he seemed oddly relaxed.

Ser Loras trotted his young, white mare up alongside them, sending his brother a smirk before offering out a single red rose to her sister. "Thank you, Ser Loras," she heard Sansa say, taking the flower and holding it to her chest as the Tyrell boy rode to take his place. "Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him," Sansa told her father next, clutching onto his arm.

Arya rolled her eyes as she watched the men line up and the horses charge each other again. She thought the pair looked almost like a battle between good and evil, with Ser Loras in his white armor atop his white horse and Ser Gregor all in black. This time when lances met, it was Ser Gregor who fell, crashing into the wooden barrier and landing with his horse atop him. The crowd cheered so loudly the sound of Clegane calling for a sword was almost drowned out. "Why does he need a sword?" she asked her father.

Ned had no answer for her and could do little but watch as the massive man unsheathed a greatsword and brought it down on his horse's neck. Arya's mouth fell open as the horse's head dropped. The poor beast took a few more steps decapitated before finally succumbing and she thought she might be sick. But then Ser Gregor turned his sword on Ser Loras, swinging so hard he knocked the boy off his horse. Loras did will enough to defend himself from the ground, but by the second hit even his shield had split in half.

Arya whirled around, eyes finding Jaime precisely where he'd stood the last time she'd looked at him. She waited for him to move, to unsheathe his own sword and stop the great oaf from killing Willas's brother, but instead he watched on with disinterest. "Leave him be," another of the Kingsguard growled, and it was Sandor Clegane who came down to meet his brother in battle instead.

* * *

Arya stayed throughout the melee tournament and the archery tournament, though they lasted the better part of the day. Her father and sister had long returned to the Red Keep to rest, but her father had permitted her to remain alongside Willas.

This had offered her a great advantage at the feast. She bid Willas farewell, telling him she was off to join her father, but it gave her ample time to make a few pit stops before she went to him. That was how she found herself standing before a man with hair nearly as red as the robes he wore. She could only gape at him as he finally turned his attention from his companions to the gawking girl before him. "You won the tourney," she told him. He'd bested over forty other knights with a flaming sword. It was only then that her eyes shifted to the boy beside him, much younger and with darker hair. "So did you!" He'd shot an arrow from nearly 120 paces, striking perfectly in the center.

"Did I?" the boy asked. "How much did I win?"

"Ten thousand gold dragons," she said, watching as he grabbed haphazardly at his waist for a pouch before sitting it on top of the table and trying to count it. He seemed to be struggling, Arya noted, first closing one eye as he tried to focus on the bag, before closing the other to see if that would help him to stop seeing six pouches of gold instead of the one. "You've already spent so much of it." The archery tournament had only ended a few hours earlier. His prize could've fed and housed a large family for two years and he'd well over half of it in two hours.

"Is it enough for you?" he asked, shoving the pouch of gold across the table at her.

"What?"

"Forgive him, my lady," the older man said. "He's drunk and a fool besides. He wouldn't know a highborn girl from gutter rat."

Arya felt herself grow hot as the realization dawned on her. "You're both drunken fools," she said, wondering why she'd idolized these two men not moments before.

"That's quite unkind," the man said. "True, but unkind." He glanced down at her chest and she felt embarrassed again until she realized he was only looking at her sigil. "What are you doing so far from your father, little wolf?"

"I thought I wanted to meet the man who beat the Hound in combat," she said, looking at him with something that could only be interpreted as disappointment. Her father had told her stories of Thoros of Myr when she was a girl. About how he'd been the first to storm Pyke during the Greyjoy Rebellion, leading the attack with that flaming sword of his. He'd told her Thoros was one of the bravest men he'd ever known, but all Arya saw was a drunk. She cut her eyes to the archer boy with equal contempt, finding him now with his arms folded across the table as his head resting atop them as he watched her. "I was wrong."

Thoros hid his smile behind his goblet of wine. "The boy would beggar himself for your maiden's blood and you scorn him?"

"A crueler woman has never existed," the boy mourned.

Arya's only response was to grab an apple from the table behind her and hurl it at them. In spite of his intoxication, the archer boy's reflexes were fast and he had no trouble in catching the apple. He took a bite of it and sent her a wink and she contemplated hurling herself across the table to strangle him.

Instead she gave them both a withering look before marching off to find her father.

* * *

 **A/N:** Another chapter up fairly quickly! I'm definitely feeling very inspired by this story lately so it's easy to put chapters up. All of your nice reviews definitely contribute to that. :)

Also, side note, I hope this story doesn't get too confusing. I tend to take some things from the show, like how the jousting tournament went, and some things from the books, like Thoros and Anguy being in King's Landing and winning the melee and archery tournaments. Hopefully it doesn't make things too convoluted as I try to pick and choose what I liked best from each.

 _Special thanks to:_

 **Indigo Cain:** Haha my ass is ready to write Arya and Willas! Hopefully you enjoy them together. He might not be quite as interesting and dynamic as other men in the story might've been with her, but I think it's his stability and the way he's kind of her polar opposite in temperament that makes them a good ship. Thank you for your review! :)

 **NightlyRowenTree:** You're welcome for the update! I hope you continue to enjoy and thank you for reviewing to let me know you like it. :)

 **1MoreInMe1:** I totally agree with you about attractive characters being overrated! I don't know that Arya's quite as ugly as she thinks she is and her perception of herself moreso stems from Sansa and Jeyne Poole bullying her, but she's definitely not beautiful in the way Sansa or Cersei or Dany are. My biggest pet peeve when I'm reading or watching something is when two characters fall for each other just because they're both attractive. So boring! So lazy! Ugly characters are the best because when characters fall for them, it's because the relationship is actually developed and they know and care about who the person is. Thank you so much for your review!

 **Lauren Bull:** Yaaaay another awesome review from you! :D Phew I'm so glad you enjoyed the scene with her and Gendry. It's always so hard to write something that people ship so much. I definitely prefer writing ships no one else writes about so there's nothing better to compare it to. :P

It totally hurt me physically to write Ned having to be a bit of a jerk to her, but I agree with you that he would've been. Being rebellious and dirty and loving playing with swords was cute and endearing at nine, but it's frustrating at fifteen when most girls have already been married off. You totally make me want to have her run off with a married man and start Robert's Rebellion 2.0. If only there was a handsome lord in Westeros who was already married worth running off with. :'(

I love writing the Tyrells and even the little bit included about Olenna was fun for me. They're such a smart and calculating family that I think they're cunning and craftiness and ability to play the game would be very interesting when paired up with the honest, honorable and stupid Starks. Willas is definitely a sweetheart, but we'll have to see if his kindness is more genuine than Margaery's was. Anyway, thank you so much for another great review! I really look forward to hearing your thoughts.

 **Hrlqnn:** I'm pretty sure Willas could make a ship work with anyone! Arya's a bit more difficult, but hopefully you enjoy what I do with them. Thank you so much for the review! :)


	6. It's Only For Life

War was easier than daughters, thought Ned, gazing over his desk at his elder daughter, who was currently picking at a bit of dirt beneath her nail and looking anywhere but at him. She was angry with him, he knew, and he daren't deny the validity of her ire. She'd been raised far too liberally in the North, treated as if she were Robb's little brother instead of his sister. It had been difficult for her adjust in the South and he had not made it easier with his threats. But he could not deny the actions that drove Arya to avoid his gaze now had certainly borne fruit. "There's news," he announced.

His only acknowledgment from Arya was a heavy sigh.

"It would seem that you've made quite an impression on Willas Tyrell." Arya stopped picking at her nails and glanced up at him. "Lady Olenna has sent an official offer of marriage. She has suggested a wedding in the capital in one month's time, but Willas has suggested postponing the wedding for half a year while you decide if you'd like to have it here, in Highgarden, or perhaps in Winterfell. This is all, of course, assuming you accept."

"If _I_ accept?"

Ned steepled his fingers together and rested his chin atop them. "It is within my power to forge alliances as I see fit with my daughters and my sons," he said. "But it is my duty as your father to permit you a choice. I will not force your hand in this, though I do not think a better match could be made. Do you?"

Willas was kinder than anyone she had ever met. He wasn't boisterous or cruel or old. He made no attempts to control her and even seemed interested in her waterdancing lessons. Or at least he tolerated her ramblings about Syrio without complaining like Jaime always did. He'd told her of how he'd always dreamt of going North to see the great weirwood trees and of how he longed to meet her brothers, even Jon at the Wall. Highgarden and Castle Black admittedly could not be much farther apart, but perhaps Jon could come meet them halfway at the Neck and they could go on an adventure all together in search of Greywater Watch. "No," she said.

The breath caught in Ned's chest as he watched her, waiting for her to elaborate. Was it no there would be no better match or no she would not marry him? He wished Catelyn had been there beside him, witnessing just how close they actually were to finding Arya a husband. He'd never imagined the day would come. Not when she'd been rolling around in mud puddles wrestling her brothers as no more than a toddler. Not when she'd asked for a new bow for her thirteenth nameday. "You agree?" Arya gave him an odd shrug-nod combo and relief washed over Ned in a blissful wave. "He's a friend to you, isn't he?"

"Yes," she answered.

"That is a much better beginning than most are given," said Ned. "Your mother hated me in the beginning, did you know?" Arya shook her head. His daughter had never been so quiet in her life, but she was at least looking at him now and he would count that a blessing. "She was meant to marry my brother Brandon. He was much bigger and more handsome than I was. I expect I disappointed her. But she grew to love me and I grew to love her. The same will happen for you and Willas."

"If the wedding is in Winterfell, will Jon be able to come?"

 _Likely not_ , thought Ned. Not so soon after he'd taken his vows, regardless of how short the distance to travel was. But he did not think it would serve him well to tell her so. "I will write to your uncle Benjen and see what arrangements can be made," he promised. At last a smile spread across his daughter's face. "Winterfell, then?"

"In half a year's time," she reminded him.

Ned nodded, knowing that while she may be willing to get married, she would be in no rush to do so. Arya stood soon after that, not intent on lingering around her father any longer than she needed to. It pained Ned to see his daughter growing so distant. There had always been a distance with Sansa, who preferred time with her mother, but Arya was close to both of her parents. Or at least, she had been. She hesitated at his door now, waiting to be dismissed. Ned wanted to call her back in, to ask her about her lessons with Syrio and the odd friendship she seemed to have formed with Jaime Lannister. Anything to get her talking. But his tongue did not form the words and instead he gave her a brief nod and watched as she slipped from his chambers.

As soon as the door was shut behind her, Arya leaned her head back against it, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Half a year was all she had left of her life as it was. Maybe life in Highgarden would not be so bad, but it wouldn't be the life she had now. It had been hard enough to leave Winterfell behind, along with her brothers and her mother and even Theon. But to go at it alone, without her father or even Sansa at her side … A sudden pain in her forehead forced her eyes open and she found the archer boy from the tournament standing in front of her, his finger primed and ready to deliver another solid flick. "I could have your hands cut off for that," she told him.

"You could," he agreed. "But you're not that kind of lady."

He seemed confident enough in his statement, but he lowered his hand all the same. Arya looked him over and let out a groan. "Seven hells," she grumbled. He was wearing her father's colors and standing outside his door. "He made you one of his guards?"

"Your lord father didn't want to let such raw talent slip away, I suppose," Anguy answered with a shrug, following her as she started to walk away from him.

"You're good," said Arya. "But you're not that good."

Arya could hear him let out a stream of air behind her. "And what would you know about it?" She pulled the Valyrian dagger from her hip and twirled it around her fingers expertly, not cutting herself or fumbling even once. "Twirling a blade around doesn't make you a soldier, little lady."

"I know how to do more than that," she answered with a frustrated huff. "I train with Syrio Forel, the first sword of Braavos _and_ Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard." The second part wasn't necessarily true, but Anguy's eyebrows shot up at the mention of the knight.

"Your father lets you train with Jaime Lannister?" he asked, looking dubious.

"Well, he's the best swordsman in Westeros," she told him matter-of-factly. "Why shouldn't I train with him?" Anguy smiled as he trailed behind her now, but said nothing. "What?"

"The best swordsman in Westeros takes time out of his day to spar with little girls?"

Arya gave him a dirty look as she turned on her heel and led the way, determined to show him what an idiot he was for doubting her. It took nearly an hour to track the man down and she found him just as he was following his sister into the chambers of the King. "Jaime!" she shouted, loudly enough to catch his attention before he slipped away from her. Even she knew she couldn't disturb him once he was inside.

Almost doubting that he'd actually heard his name being called, it took Jaime a long moment to turn his head around to find Arya Stark running down the hall toward him, a Stark guard at her heel. "Lady Stark," he returned slowly, glancing to Cersei, still standing in the door frame, briefly, before returning his attention to the younger girl.

Cheeks red and sweaty from running around the castle in search of him, Arya hesitated upon seeing the queen still standing beside her brother. "Your Grace," she said, falling into a quick awkward curtsy. " _Ser_ Jaime," she corrected herself, though she supposed it was a bit late now.

Words escaped her now as she stood before the Lannister twins, each eyeing her with different levels of amusement. She was silent for so long, she could heard Anguy chuckling behind her. "Have you some great need for my brother or did you come all this way to gawk at him like a mare in heat?"

Arya had never really felt true embarrassment before, but it was not a feeling that she liked now. She could feel the bile rising in the back of her throat and she thought herself likely to vomit on Jaime's shoes if she did not move away from him quickly, but her feet were rooted firmly in place. "Afraid it's a private matter, Your Grace," she heard Anguy speak from behind her.

The smug look on Cersei's face crumpled into something even less pleasant, but her eyes never left Arya's face. "So private it must be kept from your queen?" she asked, doing little to mask the threat in her voice.

"To be discussed later then, ser," Anguy answered for her, offering Jaime a rather theatrical bow, before doing the same for Cersei. "Your Grace."

It was only when Anguy had dragged her to a completely different floor of the castle that she felt herself relax. "Shut up," she snapped, shoving him away though he had not said anything since they'd left the Lannisters. "Just shut up about it."

Arya was surprised when Anguy actually listened. She had expected he would talk even more now just to irritate her, but he was uncharacteristically silent. She glanced to him, her anger fading into curiosity, only to find him looking past her over her head. "A private matter, is it?" a voice called from behind her and she felt her stomach plummet. She wanted nothing more than to chase Anguy down and kick him in the shins when he offered Jaime another bow before leaving them alone in the corridor.

Resigned to her humiliating fate, Arya finally turned to face him. "It doesn't matter now." Anguy was long gone and too far away to hear whatever he said.

"So you really did come all that way to gawk at me like a mare in heat?" Arya's eyes rolled back into her head as she turned away from him, desperate to make it back into her room and hide beneath her covers for the rest of the day, but she only made it a few steps before Jaime's hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her to a stop. "What is it, Stark?"

"I'm to marry Willas Tyrell," she announced. It was the only news she could think of to share off the top of her head.

"The cripple," he stated.

"He's not a cripple," said Arya. "He just has a bad leg."

"Yes, that's what a cripple _is_." It was only then that Jaime realized he was still holding onto her arm and quickly released her, flexing his hand at his side. "Congratulations," he offered. "I'm sure a marriage to the cripple of Highgarden will be thrilling and if not ... it's only for life."

* * *

 **A/N:** Heeeeyyyy guys … sooooo … I have another question. I'm hesitant to ask this because I know Daenerys is a fan favorite and a lot of people love her but I genuinely and passionately hate her. Not in a fun 'love to hate her' kind of way, but where I skip her chapters and fast forward her scenes in the show. I don't want to write her so I'm not going to, but having the dragons brewing and everything happening over in Essos makes the world feel much bigger than just focusing on Westeros, so I don't want to cut it out completely.

When I first planned this story in my head, I was gonna AU it a bit and Aegon was going to be with Daenerys and Viserys from the start and therefore I was going to be able to write about him instead. And when I say Aegon, I mean OG Young Gryff Aegon, not 2 Aegon 2 Furious Jon Snow (when your dad is your uncle and your aunt is your mum and your girlfriend is your aunt and your grandfather killed your grandfather and your brother is Aegon and so are you).

How do you guys feel about that? Obviously the story's main focus is still going to be Arya, but there would be sections every now and then that show how Aegon's journey would be different than Dany's. I would love to be able to write him, but I'm also perfectly content just ignoring Essos. Let me know whichever you'd prefer. :)

And for you Dany lovers, no there is no door number three where I'll just write about her instead. NOOoooOOOooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooo~

 _Special thanks to:_

 **Lauren Bull:** I totally agree with you about how often Arya gets mischaracterized as this completely dead inside emotionless assassin. I think the show gets this wrong a lot, too. You're right - she was always incredibly empathetic and cared so much about anyone and everyone, regardless of their standing in the world. I think in a universe where she was allowed to stay that way for her formative years, like in this story, you would see her better qualities, like her empathy, shine through even more.

I also agree actual Disney prince Willas Tyrell would make one of the best matches for her because you're right - they value strong, smart women in Highgarden, and she'll be given more freedom there than anywhere else. That's why I added him. :P Also because I'm forever depressed they didn't include him in the show.

YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND! Here's your Neddard perspective. Hope you enjoyed it and the rest of the chapter. Thanks for your review, as always! :)

 **Guest, guest, and Guest:** Ummm … maybe you guys should edit your names on reviews so I can tell you apart hahahah. Thank you all three of you for your reviews! I'm so glad you guys think I'm writing Arya well and I hope I continue to do so. And for the guest who said she should be with Aegon *cough cough* answer the question above! :P

 **NightlyRowenTree:** Thank you so much for your review, I'm glad you're enjoying it so far and I hope you continue to. As for Willas, don't feel too bad … he _is_ the heir to Highgarden, after all. I'd take that castle. I like him too, though, and I'm glad I'm writing him in a way that lets you like him, as well. :)

 **LadyLily18:** Age ain't nothin but a number, damn it! If Jaime can sleep with his sister and Jon can sleep with aunt, let me have Jaime/Arya! If it makes you feel any better, she's almost sixteen in this story and Jaime is canonically like … 34-35 at the start of Game of Thrones, I think, so it's really not THAT big of a gap for Game of Thrones standards. I mean Dany was only thirteen when she married Drogo ….. and … and … okay I'm gonna stop defending this ship now. :P Thank you so much for the review, I'm glad you're enjoying Arya/Willas. :)

 **LadyxAbsinthe:** Hey, thank you for the review! I definitely agree sneaking into the archery tournament is something Arya would do under normal circumstances and I would have had tons of fun writing it, but the tourney came pretty shortly after Ned's whole threat about melting down Needle and ending her dancing lessons with Syrio if she continued to act out, so I don't think she would have wanted to risk it.


	7. Cripples, Bastards, and Broken Things

They had been upon the great grass plains for two moons, absent the comforts of a well appointed villa in Pentos. It was only Daenerys who need travel with the horde, but Viserys had insisted on keeping Khal Drogo within his sights until his crown was returned to him and Aegon was not one miss out on an adventure.

Life in the Dothraki sea had not been easy for his aunt, but it had been especially difficult on his uncle. Both often remained within their tents, recovering from the ride and the cruelty of the sun. But Aegon and the sun were old friends, and the Dornish in him allowed his skin to simply grow darker rather than burning and peeling and stinging. "Ser Jorah," he greeted through his yawn, collapsing onto the dirt beside the man and resting his head back against the fallen log Jorah sat atop.

"You're early to rise," the older man said, glancing toward Irri, Jhiqui, and Doreah as they passed them by on their way to Daenerys, each eyeing the impossibly blonde boy beside him before bursting into giggles. Aegon did not seem to notice. "To what end?"

"Sparring with Rakharo before we ride," he answered.

"You understand the boy's words?"

"Well enough," said Aegon.

Jorah was silent for a long while and he thought Aegon was likely to drift back into sleep as he waited for Rakharo to join him. As more of the Dothraki awoke, he noticed even more looks the boy received from women passing them by. Jorah thought it passing odd that despite this attention, he'd never actually seen the boy with a woman. "You prefer the company of the men to the women," observed Jorah, before realizing the unintentional implication.

"Is that what the whispers say?" asked Aegon, a crooked smile spreading across his face. The tension in Jorah's shoulders released upon realizing this was not Viserys he was dealing with and there would be no tantrum or threats. "There is no information to be mined from these women that I could not learn from a stray bitch in Pentos. I have not spent two months atop a horse because I wanted to fuck Dothraki women."

"You sat atop a horse for two months to learn how to swing an arakh?" asked Jorah. It was no different than swinging a sword, though Jorah did not doubt the boy could learn many combat skills from the Dothraki screamers. His ability to sit a horse had already improved considerably and he was in the midst of learning his third language, but these were both things he could've learned from the safety of Pentos if he truly desired it. Aegon merely smiled. "Your aunt is here because she must be and your uncle is here for a crown. Why you are here, I do not know."

"Ask the question you intend to ask," suggested Aegon.

"I fear it would be overstepping," admitted Jorah.

"We're friends, are we not? There is little you could ask that would overstep."

"According to Westerosi custom, in the line of succession for the Iron Throne, the crown would pass to the eldest son's children before his siblings," Jorah stated, watching Aegon carefully for any sign of a reaction. "That would put Rhaegar's children ahead of the children of Aerys in the line of succession." Aegon watched him expectantly. "Why is it we're reclaiming your _uncle's_ crown?"

Any possibility the boy may answer him evaporated when Rakharo appeared before them, whip and arakh in hand. "You raise a compelling question," said Aegon, rising to his feet with that same smile ever upon his lips. "One best kept from more discerning ears than his."

Jorah could only watch as Rakharo led Aegon away from the main camp, finding himself with more questions than he had started with. "The boy is a conundrum, is he not?"

Jorah glanced up to find himself in the presence of Ser Arthur Dayne now, Aegon's longest and most faithful companion. He'd been alone with the boy for nearly a decade and a half before bringing him to join his family and only he knew of what had transpired in his life between the day Gregor Clegane was sent to butcher him and now. "He is not what one would expect," said the old bear. "I cannot imagine he has anything to learn from Rakharo that he could not learn from you."

"I fear there is little he could learn from me he has not already learned," said Arthur. "Seventeen years is a long time," he added when Jorah gave him a dubious look. Arthur Dayne was the greatest swordsman to ever live, as far as Jorah was concerned. There was no end to what the man could teach a boy willing to learn and Aegon was certainly that. "I don't know his mind for training with the man but he is not one to waste time on fruitless ventures."

"No, he is not," said Jorah, thinking the boy's reasoning for not taking to Dothraki women made more sense now. "Who was it that stole him away from the capital? I don't think I've ever asked."

Arthur smiled at him over a cup of tepid water. "I'd best tend to my horse before another day of riding is upon us."

* * *

Gregor Clegane was easily the largest man Arya had ever seen, even surpassing Hodor in size. She thought him to be nearly eight feet tall and he was absolutely terrifying. What ought to have frightened her away only drew her to him and she often found herself perched above the training yard to see what atrocities he might commit that day. The day before last she had witnessed him cut a squire clean in half for being too slow to deliver his sword.

A sudden movement at her side stole her attention from the man and she turned in time to see Jaime Lannister settling in beside her. It might have surprised her had she not seen so much of him in recent weeks. He seemed impossible to find at times and yet around every corner at others. "Who do you think would win?" she asked him in greeting. "Between the Mountain and the Hound if the king hadn't stopped them at the tourney."

Jaime's brow lifted as he looked to the men below them, easily spotting the source of her question among them. He wondered how often she shadowed Gregor Clegane's steps and prayed it was not often enough for the great oaf to take notice. "I would hope they'd kill each other and finally rid the realm of House Clegane," he answered. Arya huffed a great sigh of displeasure, clearly not as amused with his answer as he was. "The Hound," he said instead. "He's strong enough but faster and more skilled than his brother."

"Do you think _I_ could beat him?" she wondered next. "If I was faster and more skilled."

"Perhaps if someone cut all his limbs off first," said Jaime. "Why the fascination?"

Arya shrugged noncommittally. "What else am I meant to be doing? I've already had my lesson with Syrio today."

"Don't you have a crippled husband to hold your attention?"

She cut him an annoyed look out of the corner of her eye. "I was just with him."

"Couldn't convince him to join you in your efforts to stalk the Mountain?"

"Willas is less interested in these sorts of things," she explained. "He didn't care for blood and battle even before."

"It's a wonder good old Ned permits you to have such an interest."

"He didn't always," she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I suppose when I was younger he thought it was something that would pass. He told me fighting was for boys and tried to keep me from my brothers, but it never worked. Every day I'd sneak away to join them and every day my brother Robb would beat me and I'd come home covered in mud and bruises. Robb always ended up taking quite a beating of his own from father but he still never let me win." She laughed now, remembering those days quite fondly. "But then on my tenth nameday my father took me aside with my brothers and Jon gave me my sword, Needle." Jaime glanced to the sword at her hip, nearly as thin as a needle. "He said remember that you are a Stark. Comport yourself with dignity and try to stay out of fights. But if you have to fight ..." She glanced at him with another smile, " _win_."

"Decent advice," said Jaime.

"I was doing what I was meant to be doing and he knew it," she said, but her smile had faded. "He feels differently now."

"Well, you're not ten now," he reminded her.

Arya supposed she wasn't. "You're much kinder to me when no one is around," she said. Jaime opened his mouth, ready to tell her he wasn't kind to anyone, least of all her. But that wasn't quite true and he knew it, and he suspected she knew it, as well. "You have a Lannister demeanor to uphold, I expect."

"There are certain expectations," he agreed. She looked up at him, eyes big and round as she waited for him to elaborate, and he was struck with a sudden wondering of what he was doing there, sat outside the training grounds with Ned Stark's daughter. He could've been training or fucking Cersei or doing anything else and yet here he was, listening to stories about her childhood in Winterfell. But why? He knew the most obvious answer but that was not an idea he was willing to entertain.

"The first and foremost being an expectation to greet your brother promptly upon his return."

Jaime turned around sharply and the sound of such a familiar voice to find Tyrion standing behind them, a bit unkempt and unshaven, but otherwise looking the same as last Jaime had seen him. "Little brother," he greeted. "How was the Wall?"

"Cold," said Tyrion, waddling over and taking a seat on Jaime's other side. "Your brother handled it much better than I did," he told Arya, leaning forward to look past Jaime at her. Her smile lit up her face and Tyrion felt compelled to offer something more that might keep her smile in place for longer. "He misses you already."

"Is he a ranger like he wanted?" she asked.

Truthfully, Tyrion didn't think the boy had even taken his vows yet, let alone been given a role, but he liked Arya Stark's smile. He didn't think he'd ever actually seen a Stark smile before and certainly never at him. "Yes," he lied. "Just like your uncle Benjen."

"And the road back?" asked Jaime, forcing his brother's attention back to him.

Tyrion gave him a dirty look, annoyed at being interrupted. He talked to his brother very often and it was much more rare for him to have a girl smiling at him without a handful of his gold in her pocket. "Uneventful," he answered briefly before reverting his attention back to Arya. "I saw your other brothers on the way. Bran should be riding again with the saddle I provided."

"A horse?" she demanded. "Father said he wouldn't be able to."

"If a dwarf can sit a horse, so can a cripple," he told her, watching as her smile fell.

"What is it with Lannisters and cripples?" she asked the pair, pushing to her feet and leaving them both with a look that was not particularly friendly.

Tyrion watched her as she stormed away, lamenting his choice of words. "What did you do?" he asked, finally turning back to his brother.

"She's marrying Willas Tyrell," Jaime explained.

"And that bothers you," said Tyrion. "Interesting." Jaime didn't think it bothered him at all, but he thought it odd Ned wanted to marry his eldest daughter off to a cripple when there were so many lords in Westeros with two working legs. "It's particularly interesting when I consider Cersei telling me I'd most likely find you with that … ugly little Stark bitch, I believe she said." Tyrion waited for Jaime to speak up, for a cruel jape about the girl's appearance to fall from his tongue. He had called the girl horse faced back in Winterfell, but no such cruelty came from his brother now. "After all these years and of all the women in the realm, Ned Stark's daughter."

Jaime wanted nothing more than to argue against the notion, but his brother knew him better than anyone. The idea he wanted so desperately to reject was becoming increasingly inevitable. "I'm not any happier about it than you are," he finally said. "She'll be gone soon enough and it will hardly matter."

* * *

Sansa glared at her as she traipsed about their chambers, grabbing whatever food remained from their breakfast and slipping it into a knapsack. "What are you doing?" Arya glanced up from her work to look at her sister, but her eyes soon fell to the pile of lemon cakes sitting beside her. She lunged for the cakes, managing to grab three of them before Sansa could whack her away with a heavy book. "Arya!"

"Taking breakfast to my friend," she answered, laughing as she dodged out of the way when Sansa threw one of the remaining lemoncakes at her.

"What poor, little butcher's boy have you befriended now that doesn't have his own breakfast?"

"He's a blacksmith," corrected Arya. "Or at least an apprentice. How did you know it wasn't a girl?"

Sansa cut her a derisive look, flipping open the book she had so recently hit her sister with to continue with her studies. "You'll make friends with just about anyone," she said. Arya didn't think that sounded like a compliment. "But never girls."

Arya hesitated at the door, sack filled with food hiked over her shoulder, and her mouth ready and poised to list off a few of her female friends. Her brow knitted together when she could not think of any and Sansa's smirk grew. "Well, _you_ don't have any friends at all!"

Arya stormed out of the room before Sansa could throw anything else at her, her jaw set firmly as she stomped crankily down the hall. Admittedly, Sansa had at least one friend in Jeyne Poole but Arya hated her. Jeyne Poole had been the first to call her Arya Horseface. What want did she have of any female friends when the only two girls she'd known had always been so cruel? Jaime was often cruel but at least he didn't neigh at her whenever she came by.

As she traipsed through Flea Bottom she wondered how she'd ever gotten lost the first time. The streets were narrow but simplistic and the Street of Steel was an easy one to find with its proximity to the Sept of Baelor. She hesitated a moment outside of Tobho Mott's shop, hoping that he would not be in that morning. A loud voice greeted her as she stepped through the door. "You again," the boy called, erasing any fears she had of him not remembering her. "Have you brought me another pigeon?"

"No," she answered rather smugly, approaching the cleanest, or rather, the least dirty table in the shop and beginning to spread out her breakfast assortment. She could hear Gendry stop hammering as he came over to see what she was setting out. "Fair payment for a piece of your bread."

Gendry had never seen such an assortment of food in his life. He recognized a bit of it, the lemon cakes looking similar enough to those sold by merchants around the shop, but he hadn't a clue what other bits of food were. "Who'd you steal it from?" he asked, giving her an incredulous look.

"I didn't _steal_ it," she said. "I just took it from the castle."

"A kitchen wench, is it?" he wondered, giving her a once over. He thought she looked a bit too dirty to be allowed in the kitchens and would have pegged her for stable work if anything. "You know they'll cut off your hands if they catch you."

Arya almost told him that she was the daughter of the Hand of the King and the Warden of the North. She could set the kitchen ablaze and receive no such punishment, but Gendry seemed almost impressed that she had done something so reckless and brave. He would be less impressed if he knew she had only stolen it from her own breakfast table. "Are you going to eat it or not?" Gendry glanced toward the door, almost as if he were anticipating the gold cloaks to break it down at any moment in search of the thieving kitchen wench. "Afraid to eat a lemon cake?"

Gendry grabbed one of the cakes and shoved the whole thing into his mouth, stifling a moan as it near melted in his mouth and the citrus flavor coated his tongue. "Seven hells," he groaned, grabbing another as Arya laughed. "Highborns eat well."

As he set in on the rest of the food she'd brought him, Arya wandered around the shop taking in his wares. The armor on display way gorgeous, nearly as intricate as Jaime's and she wondered if Gendry had been the one to do it or if it had been his master. She reached up for a sword nearly as tall as she was, but it clanged loudly to the floor when it proved much heavier than she had expected.

She struggled with it for a moment, putting all her strength into lifting the tip off the ground but it wouldn't budge. "You're going to cut yourself," Gendry said from behind her before taking the hilt from her with one hand and hanging it back into place, his other hand still holding a half eaten scone. Arya could only stare, watching his bicep flex. "Who do you think's going to mop up your blood when you do? It won't be me."

"I wouldn't have cut myself," she informed him, watching his back as he walked back to the food. He was tall, she noted. At least as tall as Jaime who was near as tall as the Hound. She wondered how he would have fared against the Mountain if he knew how to swing a sword instead of just making one.

"A swordsman as well as kitchen wench, are you?" he asked. "You don't know the first thing about swords."

"Stick 'em with the pointy end," said Arya, recalling the first lesson Jon Snow had taught her.

Gendry actually smiled at that, the first smile she had seen from him. "I stand corrected."

"Did you make these?" she wondered, gesturing to the armor she'd been admiring earlier.

"Some of it," he answered. "That one's for Ser Loras Tyrell." She looked at the one before her, covered in intricate designs of little flowers and vines. "He's a lord of Highgarden. Always comes in with the king's brother."

"I know who he is," she said with a smile. "Do any other lords come in?"

Gendry shrugged. "The Hand of the King has come in a few times."

Arya spun around quickly. "Lord Stark?"

"Jon Arryn first, but him, too," he said. "Never buys anything, though."

She couldn't imagine why her father would visit a blacksmith in Flea Bottom, especially if he wasn't buying anything. He always seemed so busy and rarely had time to see her, why would he have time to waste here? "Did he come to see your master or you?"

"Me," said Gendry. "He'd ask about my work and my mother."

"Your mother? Who was your mother?"

Gendry looked annoyed to be asked the same questions by a third person, but he supposed she had at least fed him first. "She worked in a tavern and had yellow hair," was all he knew. "She wasn't anyone."

"Then it was your father he wanted to know about," she told him matter-of-factly. "Who was he?" Gendry shrugged. "Well he must be someone important or my father wouldn't have come to ask."

" _Your_ father?"

Arya blanched, realizing she'd given herself up by accident. "No, _your_ father," she said quickly before Gendry could think too long about it. He was not the cleverest boy she'd ever met but she didn't think he was stupid. "Maybe he's a great knight. Or maybe you were Jon Arryn's and that's why he came to visit you."

"Maybe I'm Lord Stark's," Gendry muttered, looking dubious.

"No," Arya snapped. "You're not his."

"Why not?" asked Gendry. "He visits me, too."

"Because Lord Stark is the most honorable man in Westeros and he loves his Lady Catelyn," she said. "She's the _only_ one he loves."

Gendry smiled, looking away from her as she glared at him, the apples of her cheeks growing red as she grew more angry with him. "He must've found that bastard of his under a cabbage leaf, then," he said, adding fuel to the fire. Something flashed in her face that made Gendry suspect she was liable to grab another of his swords and stick it in his gut. He caught her by the wrist before she could and held her in place when she tried to jerk out of his grip. "At least your father _raised_ his bastard, not like mine."

"Lord Stark's not my-"

"Yes, he is," replied Gendry. The pieces had come together in his mind. Why she hadn't known her way around Flea Bottom, how she'd managed to sneak out an entire sack full of food without any fear of repercussion. "My father's no lord or knight. Some smelly drunk, I'd wager, like the others my mother dragged home from the alehouse. Whenever she got mad at me, she'd say, 'If your father were here, he'd beat you bloody.' That's all I know of him." Arya felt her anger waning as he spoke and a different emotion entirely taking its place. "Well, if he was here now, might be I'd beat _him_ bloody. But he's dead, I figure, so what does it matter who he was?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Wow the reviews for this came in fast! You guys definitely know how to inspire a girl to want to write, so this chapter is going to be posted much more quickly than the last. I think it'll be a fair bit longer, too, with the inclusion of an introduction to Essos.

For anyone confused by it or not entirely on board, let me explain. I write fanfiction for stories that I love in order to remedy certain aspects of the story that I didn't really love. There are, admittedly, a lot of things I really haven't loved from the more recent seasons of Game of Thrones, but the most egregious for me were:

Arya's character arc after leaving the Hound

The erasure of Willas and Garlan Tyrell and Highgarden being stormed and destroyed in a 30 second scene because 'flowers can't fight' despite House Tyrell having the largest army at the time and a very capable commander in Garlan

Daenerys Targaryen's character arc after season two and her general existence

90% of Westeros instantly and happily bending the knee to a foreign invader with three dragons, a horde of raping and pillaging savages, and a family history of mental instability

The first I am fixing for myself by having Arya as my main character. The second I am remedying with the inclusion of Willas and bringing House Tyrell more into the fold. Aegon Targaryen fixes the third and fourth for me. For anyone who didn't enjoy his character in ADWD, don't worry, I will be taking absolutely zero inspiration from it. For anyone who wants me to focus entirely on Arya, I promise he will be very important in her future.

 _Special thanks to:_

 **Arya xD:** Your review made me laugh, thank you for changing your name so I could tell all my guests apart! :P Aaaawww I love Sansa, but I definitely agree Cersei Dany. I'm also very glad we both agree that Jaime would love her to the world and beyond. I'd be lying if I said I didn't ship her with Jaime the most, but I'm trying to be fair to all the other pairings. Thank you so much for your review! It really makes me want to write more. :)

 **DJS:** I totally agree that in the books and show the only person Arya should end up with is Gendry. In this story though …. :P Thanks so much for your review!

 **RandomRaptor:** Thank you so much for your review! You're in luck because this is definitely the story I'm most motivated to write right now and since I already know what I want to happen for about 90% of the story, there shouldn't be any problems with me continuing to update. :)

 **Lauren Bull:** Oh no how long did I wait between updates?! I'll try to post this chapter sooner so you don't think I've died or anything. :P

I also totally think everyone who's ever met Arya has fallen at least a little bit in love with her. I mean, how can you not? I'm not going to lie, I actually totally ship Arya with Anguy, but I'm doing my best to ignore it so that Arya doesn't make, you know, literally everyone in Westeros her boyfriend. Ugh, the curse of writing such a shippable character. AND IN ALL FAIRNESS TO ANGUY, Ned _does_ ask him to join his guard in the books, he just said no there. Maybe Arya was a good reason to say yes. :P

Cersei was most definitely NOT happy with Jaime after that whole interaction and I agree that she'd be much safer as far out of Cersei's reach as possible. I also totally agree about Aegon being super lame in the books - but that's another reason why I want to write him. I love taking bad or even just underrated characters and writing them in a new and better light. Hence why I like including the Brotherhood and Willas.

Thank you, as always, for another awesome review. Now … I should get back to writing before everyone thinks I've died again. :P

 **Shockeye7665:** Hey, thank you for the review! You're definitely right - Ned's conversation about Jaime would've led to his disapproval about the relationship. As I am including Essos, Arya will definitely be making the trip across the Narrow sea.

I'll be honest, I definitely considered having Arya leave with Willas before any of the fighting broke out, but I figured it would make things almost too easy. A Stark-Tyrell-Baratheon-Tully-Arryn alliance would've made this a pretty short war. However, I _really_ like your first idea and it totally makes me want to write it. I now must formally request for you to write your own Arya Stark story so that I can see Arya battling at the Blackwater in all her badass glory, please and thank you. :P

 **Bloodshark:** Oh, be still my heart! You make me ship Arya and Jaime even more when you point out she's the first one to call him something other than Kingslayer. Thank you so much for your review, I promise you'll see Arya start sticking people with the pointy end very soon. :)

 **Indigo Cain:** I'm glad someone appreciates my Aegon jokes! Did they think we wouldn't notice he named both of his sons Aegon? Or that they recycled Viserys' weave for Rhaegar? DISRESPECTFUL.


	8. The Three Quarter Man

"Lady Stark!"

Arya's eyes frantically searched the halls of the Red Keep for a shock of auburn hair and a tall, imposing figure. The realization that she was the 'Lady Stark' in question, and not her mother, was a painful one. "Lord Tyrion," she murmured, shoving her practice swords up into the crook of her elbow so she could offer him a curtsy.

As he grew closer, Arya found herself oddly disappointed. She had been promised a monster, a demon monkey with two claws and one red eye. But Tyrion Lannister was not a monster; he was just a man. A short man, perhaps, and certainly not handsome like his brother, but there was nothing in his appearance that struck either fear or amusement in her heart. "I hear congratulations are in order," he said, falling into step beside her as she led him out of the Red Keep and into the blazing afternoon sun. "Highgarden will make your father a very good ally in the wars to come."

"Which wars are those?"

"There are wars brewing around every corner, my lady, or at least so my father says," answered Tyrion. He watched as Arya unintentionally outpaced him; each step she took equalled two of his, and she was several feet ahead of him before she took notice. Once she did realize it, she glanced back toward him and then around them before heading for a nearby bench and sitting upon it. He wondered if that bench had always been her intended destination or if some unimaginable kindness had led her to it. From what he knew of Arya Stark, she did not seem the kind of girl to sit idly amongst the roses, but the other notion felt too farfetched even for an imagination as formidable as his own. "Though it would take a great fool to bring a war to House Stark now."

Her father never talked to her about war. He'd been in two and won them both, but he never regaled her with tales of great victories. Any stories she'd heard of the Battle of the Trident had come from people who weren't there. He wouldn't even tell her how he'd defeated Ser Arthur Dayne and there was no one else alive who knew that tale, save for Howland Reed, who Arya was not liable to ever meet. It was a topic that interested her greatly and she made no efforts to conceal it. "Why?" she asked him eagerly. "Is the North very powerful?"

"Not _powerful_ , per say," answered Tyrion, watching her face fall. "But very difficult to invade. Moat Cailin is said to have defended southern invasions for ten thousand years and the rest of the coastline is so barren it would be impossible to field the supplies needed to support an army."

"If the North is so difficult to invade, why do we need allies?"

"The key to any war is avoiding what is strong and striking what's weak," he said. "The North alone is scarcely thirty or thirty-five thousand men spread out across a massive terrain. It would take weeks or even months to call upon all the Northern banners. This makes the North appear very weak and susceptible to attack. Because of your mother, the Riverlands would be likely to join in any war efforts the North made, but the Riverlands are easily invaded and terrorized. The Reach, however …" Tyrion smiled now as he looked at her, surprised at how keenly she was listening. "The Reach is a hundred thousand good men and more than enough food to feed one kingdom, or starve another. I wouldn't want a war with the Reach. And when you marry Willas Tyrell, a war with the North becomes a war with the Reach."

Arya wasn't sure how she felt about this information. She knew the Tyrells were one of the great Houses, but she didn't realize what an intimidating force they were considered. She hated being treated like nothing more than a commodity for her family to sell for power, but part of her was pleased to know that she alone could make the North so much stronger. "You know a lot about it," she observed, hoping she didn't sound as jealous as she felt.

"Ah, a prerequisite for calling yourself Tywin Lannister's son," he said. "Another man I would not want a war with."

"Do the Westerlands have more than a hundred thousand men?" Arya knew the Lannisters were considered the most powerful family in the Seven Kingdoms, but she didn't really know why.

Tyrion shook his head. "Far fewer, in fact, but wars are not always won with brute strength. Clever tactics are more powerful weapons than numbers alone. To make yourself appear weak and indefensible when you're poised to strike, or to make your enemies believe you're halfway across the kingdom when you're waiting just around the corner for them … My father is unmatched in his craft."

He was surprised to find Arya grinning at him. "Would that I had a second sister to marry to you," she said. "Then no one would ever think to cross the North."

"Your father could have ten daughters and he would not marry one to me," Tyrion assured her.

"Why not?"

Her lack of understanding struck him something painful. "You met several suitors before your engagement to Willas Tyrell, did you not? At any point did Lord Stark suggest meeting with me?" Arya shook her head. "Ah, but I am the heir apparent to Casterly Rock and no older than your husband to be, and yet I was never even a possibility." Comprehension had not yet dawned on Arya Stark's face. "Lord Stark would not marry his daughter to half a man," he put it plainly

"I would not call you half a man, my lord," said Arya. "More like three quarters."

"The Three Quarter Man doesn't have the same ring to it."

Arya had her own experience with mean nicknames. She wondered if it bothered Tyrion as much as it bothered her. He didn't seem to mind, but maybe he'd just learned to hide it better. "Why did you help Bran?"

The question was sudden, but not entirely unexpected for Tyrion. Robb Stark had asked the same question. "Your brother Jon as me to," he replied simply. "And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things." Arya grimaced at the word _cripple_ again. "Perhaps I misspoke-"

"No," she said quickly, before he could finish an unwarranted apology. "He is what you say but it is a difficult thing to swallow all the same." Tyrion wasn't sure what to say then. A consoling hand on her knee seemed the proper protocol, but he did not think it would be well received. "What was it you wanted? I'm sure you did not seek me out to discuss battles strategies and I'm overdue for a visit to the Blacksmith."

It wasn't, in truth, but the questions he'd had about the girl, and how she had found herself on Jaime's radar, had long been answered. "I shall not keep you from it any longer, my lady," he said, rising first from the bench and offering her a quick bow.

He was nearly halfway back to the doors of the Red Keep when she called out to him. "Lord Tyrion," she said. She was on her feet now, as well, and fidgeting awkwardly with her two wooden, practice swords. "I don't think you're three quarters of a man, either."

Tyrion Lannister had never considered himself a slow witted man, but by the gods, he was a dawdling fool that afternoon. Arya Stark had long disappeared from view, but he still found himself standing in place, wondering what in the seven hells she could have meant by that.

* * *

It was Jaime's least favorite task, standing guard outside Robert's door while he got 'friendly' with some lowborn woman that was not his sister. And yet it seemed that Robert had delegated the task exclusively to him, as if he kept a whore on retainer for whenever Jaime was on duty. Jaime thought his afternoon was as unpleasant as it could possibly be, but then he caught sight of Willas Tyrell, approaching alongside his brother and Renly Baratheon.

Renly appeared no more pleased to see him. "Ser Jaime," he said, a smug look upon his face. "I would speak with the my brother."

"I'm afraid he's rather occupied at the moment," said Jaime. "Though I would not stop you should you wish to interrupt." Jaime smiled as a woman's shrieking moan cut through the silence of the hall. "Perhaps a knock first," he suggested. Renly didn't deign to respond as he turned sharply, clearly deciding he would return later. The brothers Tyrell were on his heel and had nearly slipped from view when Jaime's self control gave out. "Shall I summon a palanquin for you, my lord? To help you with the stairs."

It was Loras who reacted, much to Jaime's disappointment, wheeling around and marching toward him with a face growing redder by the second. His brother's hand on his shoulder stopped him, just out of Jaime's earshot, leaving him unable to hear whatever words the brothers shared that led Loras to leaving alongside Renly.

The sound of his cane tapping the cool, marble floor echoed throughout the hall and Jaime may have mocked Willas for his incredibly slow pace had he not quickly realized it was intentional. It took the boy nearly thrice the time to return to Jaime's side as it had taken him to leave it and Jaime couldn't deny that it had irritated him. What bothered him even more was that Willas seemed in no rush to return with a cruel jape of his own, either, but instead stood silent before him for so long Jaime nearly spoke out of turn, if only to fill the quiet. "Is it painful for you?" he finally asked, leaving Jaime to wonder what he meant. The silence? Standing guard while Robert demeaned his sister? His own leg? "It must be."

"I don't know your meaning, I'm afraid," he replied.

"It's not me you hate," said Willas, both his tone and his face remaining pleasant and cordial. "It's her you love, isn't it?" Jaime opened his mouth to dispute it, but Willas didn't offer an opportunity for rebuttal. "You think I don't know how you haunt her steps? That I don't see how often you force your paths to intertwine?"

"A wonder I've not heard the tapping of your cane with you following so close behind," remarked Jaime.

Willas smiled. "She could've been yours in another life," he said. A life where he had not joined the Kingsguard. As the heir to Casterly Rock, he could've had any woman he wanted. Had his father held out on marriage long enough and not forced that insipid Tully girl on him, it could've been Arya. "Tell me true, Ser Jaime, is that painful for you?" There wasn't an answer Jaime could give that didn't show his hand, but not responding at all had been a mistake. "Enjoy her time in King's Landing," the boy said. "Once she's gone, you'll never see her again."

As he watched Willas Tyrell go, slow and meticulous in every step, Jaime wondered what it would feel like to plunge his sword into a cripple's back.

* * *

"Ser Jorah," the boy greeted, as casual as Jorah had ever heard him before. But the boy's appearance was contradictory to his tone, dressed in full plate armor from his neck to his feet. It did not take Jorah long to notice Ser Arthur Dayne several feet behind him, dressed similarly in armor with a Targaryen crest in the center. His old Kingsguard armor, Jorah quickly realized. "Do your loyalties lie with the Targaryens or with the Dothraki? You were with them first."

Jorah glanced from Aegon to Arthur, unsure of what was happening. "My loyalties are with you, Your Grace," he said. "You and your aunt."

Aegon smiled. "You should keep your sword ready, then."

"Is this about Viserys?" asked Jorah, stopping Aegon before he could get too far away or grow too close to Drogo. He did not imagine the great Khal would respond favorably to being approached by a boy in full armor. "He's gone, Aegon. There's nothing to be gained for avenging him now."

"It's not about vengeance," said Aegon. "You asked me many moons ago why I am here. You'll have your answer shortly."

Daenerys looked surprised to see him, but her expression turned frantic when she noticed his armor. "Aegon," she whispered, grabbing him by the wrist with one hand while cradling her growing belly with the other. "What are you doing?" She looked back over her shoulder to see Drogo watching them, his eyes dark and foreboding. Drogo's bloodrider Qotho stepped forward, his arakh at the ready in case Aegon should try anything stupid. "Do not do this," Dany pleased. "You are the only family I have left in this world."

"Whose fault is that?"

He shrugged out of her grasp, stepping closer to Drogo, who sat atop his makeshift throne with a tall pile of decapitated, rotting heads beside him. Qotho put himself between the two men but Drogo called him back, speaking to Daenerys instead. His aunt leaned closer to him, her hands gripping his arm again as she translated. "He says he has already killed one T-"

"I understood him quite well," Aegon assured her. " _Yeri vos jif ray drozhosh_ Viserys _._ "

"What choice did he have?" demanded Daenerys, flinching when Drogo stood as well and she was stuck between her nephew and the much larger man. "What choice did _I_ have?" Her hands found his face, pulling his eyes from Drogo and down to her. "You would leave me alone in this world?"

Aegon pulled her hand away, giving it a gentle squeeze before handing it to Ser Jorah, who pulled a protesting Daenerys out of the line of fire. " _Anha vaddrivak yer_ ," he told Drogo, who laughed at the threat. " _Anha aqorasok khalasares yeri._ "

Jorah looked to Arthur, wondering if this had been his plan all along. Did he know from the first that Viserys would not last long? Had Aegon simply been biding his time until Drogo gave him a reason to do this? Had the boy only threatened to kill the Khal, Jorah may not have thought so, but to threaten to take his khalasar, as well? The time to ask was gone when Aegon drew his sword. Clearly amused by this, Drogo pulled his arakh, as well, glancing over his shoulder to share a joke at the boy's expense with his bloodriders.

A mistake, he soon realized, as Aegon plunged the tip of his sword neatly into Drogo's thigh, just below his waist. By the time the man could react, Aegon had already pulled the sword away, his eyes on Drogo's face as Drogo examined the blood now spouting out of his new wound like a fountain. The Khal did not seem nearly so amused now.

Daenerys wailed as Drogo staggered toward him, his arakh just narrowly missing Aegon's throat as he ducked beneath it. He dipped and ducked and dodged two dozen strikes from the Dothraki man, but returned with none of his own, always moving just out of his reach. It did not take Jorah long to understand his strategy. The mighty Khal was growing slower and paler by the second and the blood was still pouring out of his thigh. Only then did Aegon go on the offensive, knocking Drogo's arakh out of the way and cutting him across the arm and then the chest, circling the Khal like a vulture until his leg gave out from under him.

"Aegon," cried Daenerys, tearing pouring down her cheeks as she looked at her once mighty husband. It had taken little more than a nicked artery to bring him to his knees, and he was nearly as pale as Aegon now, his eyes unfocused as he stared out ahead of himself. "Please … please, don't kill him."

Aegon sheathed his bloody sword, walking behind the Khal's back as he pulled out his dagger now. "He's already dead," he told Daenerys, slashing his blade across Drogo's throat.

Several new blades were drawn the moment Drogo's body hit the dirt. Qotho, Cohollo and Haggo, Drogo's bloodriders, advanced on Aegon now and Arthur stepped forward to meet them. Jorah realized why the boy had told him to keep his sword ready; the bloodriders were sworn to their Khal, and now that he was dead, their only path forward was to avenge him and then join him. Jorah had no choice but to release Daenerys in favor of drawing her own longsword, and the little Khaleesi was on her nephew in an instant, tearing at his exposed skin with her nails and swinging tiny fists at every other part of him.

Aegon met her with a sharp elbow, knocking her back and to the ground so he could focus on the men with arakhs poised to kill him. The battle did not take long with Arthur and Jorah at his side and once the three bloodriders were dealt with, he knew the rest of the khalasar was his.

He had not expected Daenerys to still be on the ground when he turned around to deal with her, nor had he expected the blood now staining her inner thighs as her handmaidens fretted over top her.

* * *

 **A/N:** Boy oh boy I have been feeling inspired to write this lately. I hope that writing so much so quickly hasn't made my writing too sloppy, but do let me know if it is.

The death of Viserys and Drogo puts us around episode 8ish of season one. I'm more than happy to write another full chapter of Arya actually having a fun and pleasant youth in the capital before things turn to shit for her, but I'm also happy to have things start popping off in the next chapter. Let me know which you would prefer, but remember: this is the only time that Arya will ever have to develop certain relationships with certain people. If you want to see more of her with Jaime or Tyrion before the Starks and Lannisters are at war, or if you want to see Arya interacting with Ned and Sansa for the foreseeable future, it has to be now.

Tell me what you'd like to see. :)

 _Special thanks to:_

 **Marvelmyra:** Well now that is a lot of reviews to address! Let me start with the most important thing: your grammar correction. He was sitting is absolutely the correct grammatical form, but 'he was sat' is very common in many British dialects. While it's not considered correct, it is what feels natural to me and it's what I'll continue to be writing.

I'm glad you love the idea of Willas as I'm definitely thrilled to include him. Aegon will most certainly be a wake up call for Daenerys, and you're right, it's not Viserys' crown at all, and it wouldn't be Dany's either. Jondarys Warborne made me laugh - what's so wrong with his name just being Jon?! Rhaegar loved Jon Connington, after all! Thanks for the reviews! :)

 **Arya xD:** If that's you asking me to write Hot Pie/Arya smut ….. I will. To be honest, I don't really ship Gendrya that much, either. I always watch a couple of those cute little Gendrya youtube videos to get me in the mood before I write a scene of them. The only person I really ever shipped Arya in the show with was the Hound, but I'd be terrible at writing him. :( Thank you for your review!

 **Indigo Cain:** Aemon would be a better name, I agree, but what's so wrong with him just being Jon?! Rhaegar loved Jon Connington, after all. I'm totally okay with a Targ having a name without a bunch of unnecessary a's and e's and y's and s's.

 **Lauren Bull:** I totally don't blame you for not remembering about Anguy. I didn't remember either until I was reading about who won the different Hand of the King tournaments on wikipedia. :P I honestly feel bad I haven't physically written any of Syrio in this story, since he really could very easily survive. I'm so bad at just …. avoiding characters I don't think I could write very well.

You make a VERY good point about Jaime never having healthy relationships with women. I've never really thought about how messed up his views on women probably are and I'm going to have to keep that in mind when writing him. As for Tyrion … listen ….. I ship Arya with everyone and everything! I'm trying to keep it platonic, but knowing that GRRM had Jon/Arya/Tyrion planned is always in the back of my mind. I need someone to physically restrain me from writing her romantically with everyone.

But I WILL continue writing her romantically with Gendry, since I seem to have your approval. :P Don't worry, I have a lot of Arya kicking ass and stabbing things planned for very soon. Do let me know what you think about the question above and whether I should have another chapter or two of development, or if things should start happening next time. Thank you, as always, for your review. :)

 **Helen:** Aahhhh thank you so much! I love to hear when people think I'm writing Arya well. It's difficult to keep her relatively in character, while still trying to write her in an AU sense. You definitely get a lot more Tyrion this chapter, so I hope you enjoy!

 **NightlyRowenTree:** You're welcome for the update, here's another!

 **MidnightDeceit:** I think it's impossible I found someone who enjoys the three ships I've included! Who the hell ships Arya and Willas besides me?! :P And hey, who says ALL of the ships aren't real pairings? Every dog has its day, every ship has its sail, you know … thank you so much for the review!


	9. Wolf Child Blood Child

"There's no need for priests or witnesses in the North," said Arya, having just listened to Tyrion describe wedding customs in the South to prepare her for her own. "The gods bear witness to any vows made before them and they see in your heart whether or not you're true."

"I shudder at the thought," Tyrion replied, smiling to himself as he saw Arya out of his peripheral arching her shoulders and arms to match one of the poses in her book. She was typically not one for reading but her interests had been piqued by an old tome on the fighting style of the legendary Ghiscari lockstep soldiers.

"What is it you fear they'll see in yours?"

There were a great many things he hoped to keep hidden from the gods, but it was thoughts of her, most recently, that he thought best kept to himself. Some thoughts were wholesome enough, but he feared his intentions for the girl grew less pure by the day. Her sister was a Tully at heart; she had adjusted well to the South and she was thriving at court. But Arya … Arya was all Ned and she fit in about as well as he did. The difference was that Ned Stark didn't care and his daughter could only pretend not to. She was lonely, though she'd never admit it, and he thought her a bit sad, as well. She wanted friends but she didn't know how to make the kind she should have and instead she found herself with naught but Lannisters and lowborns.

She was kinder to him than she had any right being. Surely even the old gods were not so cruel as to deny him his thoughts about a girl who always seemed so happy to see him. They would probably frown upon his whoring, though. A vice that had grown rampant under Arya Stark's care. Chataya's whores had grown so accustomed to his patronage in recent weeks he would likely beggar them when she left for Highgarden and his desires waned in her absence.

"I should reveal to you what I hide from the gods?"

Arya smiled at him over the top of her book. "I expect I'm more forgiving than any gods."

Of that, he had no doubt, but a subject change was still in order. "Have you learned anything?"

"I've learned that even the Ghiscari legions were no match for dragons," she lamented, closing the book and setting it aside. She knew that Old Ghis had been burnt to the ground but she had hoped for a better facilitator of destruction. What could any man do against dragons? "Do you think the gods caused the Doom of Valyria?"

"The Doom was no more than the eruption of the Fourteen Flames," he said. A natural calamity, as far as most were concerned. Septons had different ideas but he had never put much stock into the opinions of godly men. "You think otherwise?"

"They say the dragonlords of Valyria thought themselves more powerful than gods," said Arya. "The Targaryens thought themselves above the laws of gods and they surely answered for it. You don't believe in them, do you?"

He didn't, but he wouldn't tell her so. Not when she made it so clear she did. "Tell me why you do."

"My father says the old gods have no power in the South where the heart trees have been cut down, but the wildlings believe the gods are everywhere and in everything - the rocks, the streams, the birds and the beasts. Earth and water, soil and stone, oaks and elms and willows, they were here before us all and will remain when we're all gone. In the godswood at Winterfell, I could feel them in my bones, in my blood I could _feel_ them," she told him with more sincerity than he'd ever seen from her. "I can't feel them at all here."

Tyrion stood, setting his own book aside in favor of approaching her. He hesitated for a moment when she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, but he soon realized it was not his proximity that bothered her. She was as troubled as he suspected and she didn't want him to realize. His hand found the top of hers and she stared down at it as he spoke. "You want to go home," he stated. It wasn't a question.

"I don't belong here."

"No," he agreed. "You don't." Arya looked from their hands up to him. "Come, let's see what remedy I can procure for homesickness."

All his brilliance had led them to the stables, to where he knew the wolves resided. She had not told him so, but he had heard tales. None of the stories could have prepared him for the actual sight of the beasts. They'd been no more than pups when last he'd seen them at Winterfell, but they were growing quickly. They were each the size of small horses, but one of them stood a full head higher than the other. But it was not their height that terrified him so - he was used to things being much taller than he was. It was their paws that caused him alarm; awkwardly large for the legs they were attached to, they indicated to Tyrion that the direwolves were nowhere near finished growing.

He began to question his own sanity when their stall was opened and they burst out with such sudden strength and ferocity he was nearly knocked from his own feet. But then he heard her laughing as they swarmed her, a sound he'd never heard before, and dancing so close to death by trampling felt worth it.

Tyrion suspected he wasn't necessarily _allowed_ to let two massive direwolves into the godswood, but there were only two men who could tell him no and one was in Casterly Rock and the other in the kingswood for a hunt. "I don't imagine there's much for them to hunt here," said Tyrion. But at least they would have more freedom to run than they'd had since arriving in King's Landing.

"They're everywhere," Arya replied. The birds and squirrels in the trees, the rabbits and foxes in the bushes. The godswood was filled with with little creatures and she could hear them all. The fluttering of feathered wings, the rustling of leaves, soft, padded feet treading across the dirt. "Can't you hear them?"

Tyrion had heard a bird chirping a few minutes ago, but nothing since. "No."

She could even smell them. Earthy and soft, wood and fur. When Nymeria lunged and caught a rabbit in her teeth, Arya found she could taste them, too.

* * *

The blade sang as it swung over her head.

She dipped below it and moved passed him, throwing a sharp elbow back and into his spine as she went. He grunted in pain, but she only had a moment to feel smug before his fingers tangled into her hair and he yanked her back against his chest, bringing his practice sword to her throat. "Dead," said Jaime, his breath hot against her ear. She threw a second elbow back, this time catching him in the gut. He released her with a laugh, smiling while she fumed. "Cut your hair," he suggested. "That may have worked better."

"Again," commanded Arya, gesturing impatiently for him to raise his sword.

She had improved considerably from she first arrived in King's Landing. The Braavosi waterdance suited her much better than whatever she had learned in the North. She wasn't big enough to be a scrapper, and his own style relied too heavily on strength. But she was quick now, and her movements were fluid. Every step was planned and calculated, every swing of her swords was thought out. She had not, admittedly, managed a win yet, but she was taking much longer to lose. They had been at it for hours and it usually took several minutes for him to land a killing blow. "Aren't you tired yet?"

She answered with a sword, swinging it at his middle and forcing him to lift his own to block it. Her attacks were relentless; she had a sword in either hand and she used them equally well, aiming strikes at his arms, his legs, his head, each in such quick succession that he was forced to stay mostly on the defensive. She put such little power into every strike that he could scarce counter them. Each time he parried, she had already pulled away and struck elsewhere.

It was several minutes of this before he could go on the offensive, and even then, he fared little better. It was difficult to hit such a small target, especially when said target could duck so easily under strikes that would cut a grown man in half. She dipped below another strike, moving past him again, but this time she swung her sword into the back of his knee, taking his leg out from under him.

He landed flat on his back in the dirt, and found himself staring up at the tip of a sword hovering a few inches from his eye. "Do you yield?" she asked.

"Sure," he said. "I yield."

The sword was gone, discarded to the dirt, and he was left with naught but a girl standing above him, looking happier than he thought he'd ever seen anyone. He watched her run her hands through her hair before she couldn't hold it in any longer and let out a squeal, spinning around gleefully. Jaime caught her by the ankle and pulled, sending her toppling into the dirt beside him. He expected her to swing at him, maybe kick him in the ribs, but when he looked at her laying beside him in the dirt, she was still beaming.

He wasn't sure why she was so happy. Anyone could beat anyone once in a hundred tries, but oddly enough, he didn't want to take the victory from her, no matter how hollow it was. "You did good," he conceded.

Her felt her response instead of hearing it. She practically lunged for him, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in the crook of his neck. She pulled away as quickly as she had embraced him, but she didn't go too far. "Thank you," she said, smiling down at him.

He had thought her ugly in Winterfell; she was too skinny, her face was too long, her eyes were too wide and too dull. She should have been even uglier to him now. She was covered in dirt and sweat, her hair was slick and stuck to her forehead and cheeks in patches. She wasn't beautiful, not by any means. Not like Cersei. And yet he was drawn to her. He felt himself moving closer, his lips searching for hers, but then she was gone, rolling off of him at the sound of footsteps approaching.

"Ser Jaime," he heard the call, frantic and panicked, but he did his best to ignore it anyway. His cousin Lancel seemed to find most things worth panicking over, and Jaime seldom agreed. "Ser Jaime," he repeated. "It's the King."

* * *

The news of Robert's wounds spread through the castle quickly. They said a boar had struck him through the middle and that all his intestines poured out of his belly like worms. Arya knew better than to ask her father if it were true. "When the king dies, will we go home?" she asked him. She hadn't meant for it to sound so cruel; she had no love for Robert Baratheon, but she didn't wish him dead. All she wanted was for her mother and father to be together again, and to spend the next few months with her brothers in her home.

"Robert is not yet dead," her father answered, leading her through the halls and back to the Hand's chambers where she belonged. "The gods may spare him. If not … his boy is yet a child. He may name me regent in his stead until Joffrey comes of age."

Arya tried her best not to look disappointed. A figure in the near distance caught her attention and she was surprised to find Renly Baratheon standing outside their chambers, with Willas and Loras Tyrell at his side. "Lord Stark," called Renly upon seeing them approach, taking a step forward and then a step back, taut as a bowstring. "A moment? Alone, if you will." He glanced toward the Stark guards behind them. Ned gestured for them to go, to take Arya the rest of the way to her room. "I would rather your daughter stay."

"You have business with my daughter?" asked Ned, looking past Renly and to Willas instead.

"Not with Arya," Renly amended. "But it may concern her and we thought it best she were here to hear it." Her father regarded all three men coldly, suspecting a conversation he would not like ahead of him. "Robert has named you protector of the realm, if you haven't heard." Ned certainly had. "Cersei won't care. Willas has a hundred men in his personal guard and I have thirty, and other friends beside, knights and lords. Give me an hour and I can put two hundred swords at your command."

"And what should I do with two hundred swords, my lord?"

"Strike! Now, while the castle sleeps." Renly looked over Ned's shoulder and dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. "We must get Joffrey away from his mother and take him in hand. Protector or no, the man who holds the king holds the kingdom. We should seize Myrcella and Tommen as well. Once we have her children, Cersei will not dare oppose us. The council will confirm you as Lord Protector and make Joffrey your ward."

"You would have me dishonor Robert's last hours on earth by shedding blood in his halls and dragging frightened children from their beds?"

Renly ran a hand through his hair, looking more frantic than Ned had ever seen him. It was Willas who stepped forward now. "Lord Stark, you find me an honorable enough man to trust me with your daughter. I know that we suggest sounds like treason, but when the king is dead, all power in this realm goes to his boy and the queen mother. A piece of paper declaring you Lord Protector will mean nothing to them."

"You know as well as I do, as well as Robert does, that boy will not make a good king." Ned knew it well. He also knew that boy was not Robert's trueborn son. "What's best for the kingdoms? What's best for the people we rule? Cersei Lannister and that demented half wit she calls a son?" Renly seemed poised to continue, to offer a better candidate, but Willas put a hand on his arm to cut him off short.

Ned swallowed, glancing down at Arya, who was staring up at him as she awaited a reaction. He wasn't entirely sure how to respond. To steal frightened children away from their bed, regardless of who their father was, was not something Ned Stark could or would ever do. But he could not deny that he wanted Joffrey to sit the throne even less than Renly. "If you will not strike," said Willas. "We would do well to leave."

"I will not tuck tail and run-"

"For your honor you would stay," Willas cut him off. "It's for your daughters you should go. Highgarden is no more than a week's ride from the city and once we're there, Arya and I will be married and so will Renly and my sister and then we can make our move."

"It will be the Stormlands, the Reach, and the North," said Renly. "With the Riverlands and the Vale likely to join. The Dornish are no friends of Tywin Lannister and the Greyjoys are little threat no matter who they join. We could cut off their food supply and starve them out. There would be no need for unnecessary bloodshed and we could crown a good king, a _just_ king."

"It must be Stannis," declared Ned. He had already written to the man to proclaim him Robert's heir. Stannis was a hard man, but he was a good man and just to a fault, some said.

"We must leave the city before Robert dies," Willas spoke before Renly had the chance. "Every moment we wait is another moment Cersei has to prepare. This city is only safe for as long as the king yet lives."

* * *

 **A/N:** Some of you may be confused about this chapter if you happened to catch my last version of chapter nine. Frankly, I rushed to post a new chapter before I left on my trip, and it just wasn't something I ended up liking. So far I quite enjoy writing this story and I don't want to make the mistake of posting a sloppy, rushed chapter, so I deleted it and took a bit more time to write. I definitely prefer this version of the chapter to the first, but I'm sorry to anyone who happened to read the earlier version.

As a side note, how do you guys think Arya's story is going to end? This is moreso directed at book readers because I don't think the show is going to give satisfying endings to anyone I care about. I love watching Game of Thrones theory videos on youtube and I watched one recently where the person thought Arya would die in her human form and warg into Nymeria to live a second life. They pointed out that when Arya talks about how alone she is and how all she wants is her friends/family, she always calls them 'a pack' and how often she wishes she was a wolf. They gave a ton of other reasons and I'm not going to lie, the video and idea literally made me tear up, but it's actually kind of growing on me as more time passes. The video is called "No one": how will Arya Stark's story end? and it's by Alt Shift X if anyone wants to watch it.

 _Special thanks to:_

 **Indigo Cain** : Arya being written as that emo edgelord is a huge part of why I wanted to write this. I think the show is the biggest offender as far as Arya's mischaracterization goes - "nothing isn't better or worse than anything, it's just nothing" vooooommmmm. They did good with her in bits, especially the parts where she stood up against the Hound to try to protect innocent peasants, but after she left Westeros they just ruined her for me. Especially when she came back and treated Sansa the way she did. Arya was always such an empathetic and compassionate character and I wanted to do her justice, so I'm so glad you enjoy how I write her.

As for Renly/Arya brotp … I can definitely see them teaming up to sass Lannisters and Baratheons alike. :P Thank you for the review!

 **Arya xD:** Hey hey hey Willas never says Arya is his, he just likes bullying Jaime a bit because Arya is most DEFINITELY not Jaime's. And Jaime, let's admit, deserves to be bullied every now and again. You're so right about shipping Arya with those passionate characters. Now I'm going to need Jaime, the Hound, and Jon to have a big battle royale for Arya's hand. :P Thanks for your review!

 **372259:** I hope my dyslexic ass didn't mess up your username, thank you so much for all of the reviews! I'm so glad you enjoyed the Jaime/Willas scene! I'll admit, I totally agree with you. There's soooooo much Gendrya already written on here that it's hard for me to get _too_ motivated to write it. Arya/Willas/Jaime is something I've never personally read before, so I get to write it completely how I want it without having influence from the books, show, or other fanfics.

 **NightlyRowenTree:** Ugh I love a good love triangle, too! So many people hate love triangles but they're just so … dramatic, I can't help myself! Thanks for your review, here's another chapter for you! :)

 **Lauren Bull:** Oh no no no! You're absolutely not really _meant_ to like Aegon. I don't write his thoughts or feelings during his scenes intentionally because he's really the driving force behind the story for me. I know that sounds silly because it's an Arya fic at its core, but Aegon's existence is the backbone of a lot of the future plot and what will make it so AU. If I gave too much away about him in the beginning, it wouldn't make things as fun or surprising when they happen. You don't like him because pay enough attention to realize you don't know what his intentions are, which is exactly why I _love_ having you read this story.

And please, don't ever feel like you shouldn't critique anything I'm writing ever! I'm really not sensitive at all about that sort of thing and it helps me a lot to know when my writing is getting sloppy because I do get pretty lazy and complacent. Don't ever feel like your reviews _have_ to be positive. :)

I'm so glad you liked the scene with Jaime and Willas because it was totally my favorite scene to write. Asshole Jaime is my favorite Jaime. I love Tyrion and Arya together, too. I agree with you wholeheartedly that she's very empathetic. I lowkey hated in the show when she asked "Where's the Imp?" but I can't remember if she did in the books or not to complain.

Thanks for the review! You'll finally get your action starting in the next chapter. :P

 **RandyKaguyaofthewasteland:** I totally agree that Willas and Arya balance out each other's strengths and weaknesses, but Arya x a happy childhood and stability is the real OTP. Thanks for the review, I hope you continue to enjoy!

 **Midnight Deceit:** When they called Loras the heir to Highgarden in the show I'm pretty sure I had to pause and sit and contemplate my whole existence for at least an hour. I know the show had to condense things but it seems to me like they always cut the best out and leave the worst in. I'm glad you enjoyed Willas being sassy - every rose has its thorns and all that. :P

 **Bella-swan11:** Haha, we'll have to see if Jaime does decide to steal Arya away before she can marry Willas. :P Thanks for the review!

 **FigurativelyDying:** For starters, I love your username. I'm so glad you enjoy all of her different interactions and that I've kept things interesting enough. It's definitely hard to write Gendry in a way that's different from what's expected, so I'm glad the others are keeping things interesting. Thanks so much for your review!

 **WhoGirl13:** I love a good long review! I'll address your second review first: Sansa and Arya will be together much **much** longer than they are in the books. There's no need to rush a deeper connection between them now but don't worry, I have a lot planned for their relationship in the future.

As for all of her many suitors, most of them really aren't her suitors! I mean, I personally ship Arya with … basically everyone, but this story doesn't. I'm not _hiding_ anyone's romantic feelings for anyone. Jaime and Tyrion are the only two who say or think about their feelings for Arya because they're the only two who have those kinds of feelings. Anguy and Gendry and even Willas are most certainly completely platonic on both ends at this point and I'm not entirely sure if any of them will ever grow to something more. I'll admit Aegon is 100% going to be a thing for her in the future, but try not to judge him too harshly yet. He's got a very long plot ahead of him before he ever gets to her.

I also have to add I totally agree with you about Dany/Tyrion. Blech. But I'm really, really hoping that the show wasn't hinting at a romantic subplot with that look at the end of the season. I actually think that Tyrion will be Dany's third treason and betray her for love of Jaime and the Lannister name and that that look he had was something more than jealousy. Here's hoping, at least. Thanks for the reviews! :)

 **Littlemsstrawberry:** I totally agree with you about there already being a lot of Gendrya stories on here already. I'll have to see where I see her going and who will, but thank you for your review and sharing your thoughts! :)

 **Basker:** You definitely get more of the Lannister bros! They're honestly my favorite to write with her too, so I couldn't resist giving them each another scene before it was time for things to start happening. Thank you so much for the review! I really appreciate it. :)

 **Emma3mikan: G** racias por el comentario! Mi español no es bueno, pero estoy muy feliz de que disfrutes de todo. :)


	10. Nymeria

The nerves that came from leaving the city were far more prevalent than they had been upon arrival. She should've been relieved knowing she would be returning home, but they weren't out of the city just yet. "You expect a fight," she observed, watching Willas as he and Loras both put on armor that looked as if it had never seen battle.

Willas flashed her an easy smile and it looked nearly sincere. "Expect the worst and you'll never be caught off guard."

His smile did little to alleviate the rampant beasts thrashing about her belly. Sansa did not seem nearly so worried; mostly she was angry that her father was so selfishly tearing her away from her one true love Prince Joffrey. It was enough to make Arya want to knock her in the head, but she refrained, choosing instead to focus her nervous energy on twirling her dagger around her fingers as she watched her father's men finish loading their things on the back of a wagon. It was far less than what they had come with, but her father promised to replace the things they were leaving behind.

Sansa looked positively despondent as they sat atop their horses, marching through the city. Arya couldn't be entirely sure why. Perhaps she was sad to leave King's Landing, or perhaps she was dreading spending a very long journey atop a horse instead of in a sheltered, comfortable carriage. Father had told them a carriage would meet them somewhere along the way, but for now, they must be able to move swiftly and a carriage would only serve to hinder them. It almost made Arya feel excited, as if she were going off to war.

They traveled from the Red Keep down River Row, along the Street of Steel, past Tobho Mott's shop. Arya willed for Gendry to peek his head out as they passed, as anyone in their right mind would upon feeling the earth shake beneath their feet. Two hundred horses stormed through the streets of King's Landing, making their way to Gate of the Gods. The most logical exit of the city, least likely to be guarded, Renly had told them.

But that wasn't entirely true. Red and gold lined the streets ahead, blocking their escape, the goldest figure of all at their helm. "Such a small pack of wolves," Jaime noted from atop a strong, white mare. Arya had never suspected anyone would find two hundred to be a small number, but the combined forces of the Lannister guards and gold cloaks was more. "Was this all you could assemble for your daring escape from the city?"

She watched as her father led his horse to the front of their assembly, and she willed her horse to trail as closely behind him as she dared. "You've left your king's side prematurely, Ser Jaime," her father observed. "The second to die under your guard."

Arya watched as the mirth left Jaime's eyes. "Come, Lord Stark," he said. "Your life and the lives of your daughters are not forfeit yet. Turn your horse around, bend the knee to your king and you will be allowed to live out the rest of your years in that grey waste you call home."

"Your son has no claim to the throne," said Ned. "To swear him loyalty would be treason."

 _Son?_ wondered Arya, her stomach plummeting into her shoes, her mouth as dry as a Dornish desert. Jaime's son, not Robert's? The reason her father had gone to visit Gendry, and Jon Arryn before him. He had seen Robert Baratheon's true son and knew Joffrey was not it. Sansa had often said Joffrey looked a bit like his uncle Jaime … "I would rather you die with sword in hand," was Jaime's reply, as he drew his own blade.

"If you threaten my father again-"

"Threaten?" Jaime interrupted, his eyes finding hers amongst the hundreds. "As in I'm going to open your father from balls to brains and see what Starks are made of?"

The sound of two hundred swords being drawn deafened her and chaos soon consumed her. She had always dreamt of going off to war, but she had never imagined war to be so … congested. There was no where for her horse to move, not forward, not backwards. "Arya!" she heard Willas call to her, but she could not find him among the clashing soldiers. How did men even know who was friend or foe upon the field? She couldn't tell. The only man she could focus on was Jaime, bright and golden and easy to spot as he crossed blades with her father. He was better, far better than her father, and sent the older man stumbling backwards into her horse. A horse that reared its head in response, sending her toppling off the back of it and into the dirt below.

The wind knocked out of her, she had no time to collect it again before dodging out of the way of heavy hooves nearly trampling her. She scrambled to her feet, weaving in and out of clashing blades and horse's legs until she found them again. Her father was slower than when she'd last seen him moments before, already covered in cuts along his arms and legs while Jaime didn't have a scratch on him.

"Stop it!" she shouted, hurling herself between them and knocking Jaime's sword out of the way with her own. Fingers tangled in her hair again as they had done a few days before, but it hurt much more now as Jaime threw her out of the way.

"Arya! Find your sister," her father commanded, blocking blow after blow from Jaime as he advanced with a vigor that Ned could not match. "Find Willas, get out of here!"

Asking her to abandon him was like asking her to abandon everything she was. She charged again, in perfect sync with her father. Jaime swung his sword into hers, knocking it out of her hand and into the swarm that surrounded them. He deflected Ned's next strike, as well, but was less forgiving of her father's mistakes as he had been of hers, capitalizing on the opening, stabbing his sword through the meaty part of Ned's thigh.

Arya watched as her father dropped to his knee, the sword slipping from his grasp. The world seemed to move in slow motion now, the sounds of clashing steel and screams disappeared as Jaime raise his sword again, leveled to her father's neck. Her body moved absent thought, finding the dagger at her hip and raising it over head, swinging it down at the man who had taught her how.

Jaime dropped his sword in favor of her wrist, catching it before she could lodge that damn dagger of hers into his neck. Her brought his other hand to her jaw, gripping it so tightly he could hear it crack. " _Go_ while you still can, you stupid g-" The word caught in his throat as his belly grew warm and wet. _How?_ he wondered. She had lost her sword and the dagger-ah, he realized, looking to her empty hand still in his grasp and then down to where the dagger now rested, lodged between his ribs. "Well done," he complimented, glancing over her head before back down to her. "This is going to hurt."

Arya didn't have the time to wonder what he meant before a hammer hit her on the side of her head, sending her flying away from Jaime and towards her father. Every inch of her body hurt. Her head the epicenter of the pain, feeling as if her brain had grown too large and was trying to force itself out of her skull. But it also felt warm and wet. She flopped a heavy hand to the side of her ears, feeling something hot and sticky pouring out of it. "Leave her be," she heard her father plead. A sound she had never heard before, not from him. The pain and desperation and helplessness - it hurt nearly as much as her body. The same body that urged her to sleep, to close her eyes and drift off to a quiet place where things were safe, but she fought against it, trembling hands pressing into the dirt as she tried to pushed herself back up.

The world around her spun, the figure her approaching her too fuzzy to make out. She nearly got to her knees before her hand slipped out from beneath her again, the world going blissfully dark once more. _No_ , she pleaded herself. _Not here, not now_. This couldn't be how it ended. She forced her eyes open again, the light made everything hurt all the more, but she would suffer through it. Her vision had cleared enough to recognize the Hound as he grew near. It had not been a hammer to hit her.

It had taken every ounce of strength her tiny body possessed to stand again before the man. She had lost her dagger to Jaime's stomach, and her sword to the crowd. She had nothing left to fight him with, save for her father's sword, discarded at her feet. Her body wobbled as she reached down, wrapping both hands around its hilt. She put all her might into lifting it, but it wouldn't budge. The Hound chuckling was the last thing she heard before her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed, this time for good.

Her world was blood. It was all she smelled. All she saw was red. The metallic flavor coated her tongue, invigorating her, body and soul. She wanted more, she wanted his. The big man, the one who'd hurt her. She could smell him, he was near, his sword raised high above her father's head.

She wrapped her mouth around his leg, teeth into the juiciest bits. He screamed as she snapped her jaw shut, sweet liquid rushing down her throat. She wanted more, she wanted all of him. She opened wide again, biting down on the hand that had been poised to strike her.

An arrow sailed past her ear, lodging itself neatly in the big man's shoulder. A familiar voice rang out, and its source smelled familiar too. She watched with muted interest as he reached down and scooped a girl up off the ground. Just beyond them, a more familiar scent waited. _Father_ , she thought, and lunged for him, her teeth biting into his arm as she dragged him through the dirt. He shouted at her, angry and in pain, but she kept tugging until his fingers tangled in her hair and his weight rested upon her back.

Then she ran.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hey guys, I am _so_ sorry this took so long to update. I very recently moved to Thailand and started a new job and it took much longer to adjust to things than I thought it would. I haven't lost interest in writing this story at all, so please don't worry about that. Hopefully I'll be able to get on a fairly regular updating schedule now, with one to two chapters posted per month. Thanks for sticking with me. :)

 _Special thanks to:_

 **Bella-swann11:** Jaime definitely acted a bit too slow, didn't he? :P Thanks for your review!

 **Basker:** Ooohh I think I've heard that suggested before that Arya would take King's Landing down with her. I can totally see it, but I'm not sure if I would like it. You'll have to stick around just a bit longer if you want to see Willas and Arya marry. :) Thanks for reviewing!

 **Helen:** Hopefully this chapter was enough action for you! There will certainly be more to come. I'm glad you appreciate me including Tyrion in this. I hadn't felt any particular way about him before I started writing this story, but I _really_ ship with Arya now. Thank you for the review!

 **FavFan:** I totally agree with you about needing more ships than just Gendrya. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love them … but Arya has so much shipping potential. I could see her working with just about anyone. Thanks for the review!

 **Indigo Cain:** I'm laughing at your king dumbass comment, but also hurting. I always loved Bobby B, as demonstrated in my other GOT fic dedicated to him. But yes, he does need to die for the fun things to start happening. I agree that I can't see Arya as an adult for some reason, but I hope we're both wrong. And look - Ned didn't do anything stupid. For once. :P Thanks for your continued support, it means a lot!

 **Emma3Mikan:** Thanks for another review! I always appreciate your support and hearing your thoughts on the story. :)

 **Lauren Bull:** I totally agree with you about the previous chapter nine. I definitely had a problem where I was getting so many reviews I felt so much pressure to put out new chapters quickly, and they weren't coming out great. Fortunately, after … er … three months … I am pretty happy with chapter 10.

Arya's presence was absolutely the deciding factor in Ned agreeing to the plan, and Willas knew she would be. You're making me super depressed thinking about how all of this will hurt Tyrion in the long run. I never loved Tyrion before this fic, god damn it! It's reviewers like you that are making me sympathize with him! :(

It's probably a spoiler alert, but Arya and Sansa won't be getting separated like they do in canon, so don't worry - I will definitely be adding some bonding scenes to make up for the one I deleted. Thank you again, as always, for the review! I hope you're still with me after my … excessively long siesta. :P

 **372259:** You know what, I have never considered a Shireen/Rickon ship before but now that you mentioned it, I am totally on board. I am still not entirely sure on where the Baratheon bros are going to take me, but I will definitely try to work that in if the stars will align for it.

As for the rest of your review, thank you so much! It's comments like these that have brought me back to this fic after going so long without it. I hope you're still here to enjoy this chapter! :)

 **Everybody else:** Thank you so so so much for all of your kind reviews! All of the support on this fic has been baffling and overwhelming. I'll do my best to start updating more regularly for you. :)


	11. Wolf's Blood

A fearful high thin sound emerged from her throat, the sound of a man trying to suck a river through a reed; then it stopped, and that was more terrible still.

"Arya! Arya, _please_ ," a voice begged of her. "Please don't go again, you can't, I need you!"

That voice could only belong to one person. She knew it, somewhere down deep, but the name wouldn't come to her tongue. She saw a flash of red - blood? No, not blood, but hair. Red hair, like their mother's. "S-" she tried, but the word was choked from her.

"Sansa," the voice said. "It's Sansa, your sister. You know me, don't you?"

 _Sansa_. That had been her name. Of course she knew Sansa, didn't she? If only she could open her eyes, she could see the red and she would know. A drop of something warm and wet hit her cheek. _Blood again_ , she thought. But this smelled more like salt than iron; another droplet rolled down her cheek. "Nnnn …" she tried again, annoyed as droplet after droplet hit her. Was it rain? "No."

She heard a choked sob from above her as hands grasped at her frantically. "You don't know me?" asked Sansa, sounding hysteric. "He said-he said you might not wake up again, and that if you did, that … that you wouldn't … that you wouldn't be _you_ anymore. It's all … it's all my fault, isn't it?"

"Nnnnn-no," she repeated, the only word she could remember.

Her eyes struggled to open, to see where she was, what had happened, to see that flash of red. Sansa was nothing more than a blur above her, trembling hands wiping away at the tears she had spilt upon her sister's cheeks. "It is, _it is_ ," she insisted. "I didn't mean for it … for this … the queen told me that if I just-just _told_ her, that I could stay and I could marry Joffrey and be queen, but-but I-"

It started coming back to her now. More and more flashes of red. Not hair this time, but the blood she had wanted. Her father's blood, Jaime's, her own - it had poured from her ears, she remembered. She remembered the dirt and the sound of horses' hooves, the taste of the Hound's blood, metallic and sweet- "No," she said again, more firmly this time.

"She promised me they wouldn't hurt Father, she _promised_ but she lied and oh, Ser Loras-"

"Shut _up_ , Sansa," snapped Arya as she struggled to sit despite the pain coursing through her every limb.

Sansa threw herself on top of her, holding her into place. "You have to lay still," she urged. "You'll hurt yourself."

 _They'll hurt you_ , Arya thought. They'd have her head for this, she knew, whether it be a Baratheon or Tyrell. She remembered the corpses that littered the streets of King's Landing, all good and loyal men, all men her sister had put there. "You're a liar," she accused. "You haven't talked to the queen in days. Do you understand?" She didn't, Arya could tell. Confusion was etched in her features, her brow knit tightly together. "Not in _days_ , Sansa. Say it."

"I haven't talked to the queen in days," said Sansa.

"That's what you say, even if Father-" Arya hesitated, trying quickly to take in her surroundings. It was dark inside, but she could see the sun creeping in through the corners. The biggest hint of all was that they seemed to be moving - a carriage, but headed to where? "Where is he? Where's Father?"

Sansa looked away from her and Arya's stomach sank. "He hasn't woken up yet," her sister admitted. "Lord Tyrell, Willas, he said that Father _should_ be fine. He lost a lot of blood but we're no more than a day's ride from Highgarden now. He says it's only Father's leg that may be a problem, but that he'll live."

Arya finally felt as if she could breathe again. Her father would live, her sister was alive, and Willas could not tell Sansa things if he were dead. "What happened to Ser Loras?"

* * *

Everything hurt.

Nothing was quite as miserable as going from such blissful nothingness to a world full of pain, but apparently it was necessary. At the very least, Cersei seemed to think so. "You've been asleep long enough," she said, no tenderness to her voice. He'd have been a great fool to have expected any from her.

He opened his mouth, trying to speak as the world came into blurry view, but his voice had not been used in several days and nothing came out despite his best efforts. Cersei let out an impatient sigh as she sat down beside him on the bed, waiting for him to rediscover his voice. "Wh-" he tried, but his throat burned. Cersei brought a goblet to him and he quickly downed half its contents before laying back in the bed, already feeling dizzy from the exertion. "Where is she?"

"Who?" asked Cersei. He gave her a look. "That little beast left you for dead and still you ask after her," she remarked with a laugh, though Jaime had seriously doubts she actually found him, or the situation, particularly funny. "Has there ever been a bigger fool?"

"You wouldn't be so angry if you had her," Jaime noted, wincing as he lifted an arm up so he could glance down at his abdomen. Wrapped in bandages, he couldn't see what damage she had done to him, but he could certainly still feel it.

Cersei's jaw was clenched so tight Jaime might've mistaken her for Stannis Baratheon. "What happened?"

He had fallen in love with Arya Stark. That was the short and long of the tale. He had fallen in love, let his guard down, and taken a Valyrian dagger to the gut for it. It was a very short story with little room for interpretation. "You know what happened."

* * *

When Arya awoke again, she wasn't moving. No, her bed now was quite stable, and rather inviting. It felt as if she were resting stop a pile of warm, soft sheep, enveloping her tiny frame to keep it safe. It was difficult not to succumb to its seduction once more, but she needed to know where she was.

Her gaze drifted first to the the sunlight drifting in from her balcony, covered in ivy and yellow flowers that crawled across the walls even inside her room. In the distance, she could see a large lake surrounded by tall, green trees. Looking around her room, she realized that green seemed to be a pattern. A green canopy overhead with gold trimmings, golden roses sewn into her green blanket. _Green and gold_ , she thought. _Tyrell colors._ They must have arrived in Highgarden while she slept. "There she is," a voice spoke, accompanied by a warm, rough hand engulfing her own. "There's my little soldier."

At first she thought she might still be dreaming when she saw her father sitting beside her. Sansa had told her he was likely to recover, but she struggled to believe it. She feared the worst, as she often did, but how could she yet deny him when she could feel his hand within hers? "Father," she said. "I thought that you-"

"I'm alright," Ned assured her, "and so are you."

"But your leg," said Arya. She had seen Jaime's sword go clean through it.

Ned glanced down at his wrapped leg. He had expected to lose it, truthfully, and likely would have had he been in Winterfell. The Maester at Highgarden seemed to know more. "I may not be as spry as I once was," he admitted. "But I'll walk again, they say." He was smiling at her now, but that couldn't stop the lump growing in her throat as she tried to choke back her tears. "What is it, sweetling?"

"I thought that I was … that I could be …" she tried, but the lump grew larger still, blocking her words from escaping her throat. She had thought she could be a knight, like Ser Jaime. Like Ser Arthur Dayne. She had worked so hard for so long, training under the man himself, but when it had come time to fight, she had been nothing. No more than an annoyance to him, like some insect that he must keep swatting away. It hurt her, down deep in her soul, far more than her body ached. "But I wasn't. You and Mother were right to tell me no."

Ned smiled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. She had always loved her father's smile, but it was not often that she got to see it. "And here I was preparing to tell you how wrong I've been," he admitted. "It was you who took Jaime Lannister off the field. It was your wolf who stopped Sandor Clegane. We would not have escaped had they been able to fight, Arya. It was that wolf of yours that saved me, she-"

"She bit your arm, I know," said Arya, looking sheepish. "She's sorry for that."

Her father's smile had gone now as he stared at her. "How do you know that?"

"Well, I don't … I don't _know_ she's sorry, but I know she would never mean to-"

"No," her father interrupted. "How did you know she bit my arm? I've not told a soul what she did, and you … I feared you dead, you could not have seen." Hadn't she seen? She could remember it perfectly. "What did Nymeria do to the Hound?"

"She bit his leg and then his hand, and then Anguy shot him with an arrow. Right in the shoulder," she said, tapping on herself where she'd seen the arrow go through.

Ned had seen how Arya's body draped in the archer boy's arms. She'd been limp, unconscious, and there was no way she had seen her wolf tearing into the Hound. She could not have known how the wolf had saved him, and yet she remembered details that had already gone fuzzy for him. "And how did it taste?" he wondered. "My blood." _Sweet_ , she thought. Like her favorite tarts. But how could she say that? How could she know it? "You have a wildness in you, child. 'The wolf blood,' my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave. And you … you have _more_ of it in you than even Brandon. You're quick to anger, unyielding, foolhardy with your bravery and …"

"And?"

"And you have a very unique bond with your wolf," her father said. "A bond that could get you killed."

A gentle knocking on the door prevented Ned from sharing his thoughts, but Arya had a sneaking suspicion he hadn't planned on sharing them anyway. He had said more to her today than in all her previous days combined. "You're awake," Willas called from the door, a heavy tray filled with tea and biscuits balanced in his arms.

"Only just," Ned answered for her. "We'll talk more later," he promised, patting her hand gently before struggling to his feet. It was not as effortless as it had always been before, but he stood tall in the end, giving Willas a curt nod as he hobbled out of the room absent the assistance of a cane.

If Arya had wolf's blood, Willas had the blood of a snail. He was slow and deliberate, calculating, even, and took so long with setting up her bedside table that she began to grow anxious. He'd not said a word since her father left, nor spared her a glance. She watched him as he finished with her tray, then moved around her bed to adjust her curtains. "I'm sorry," she finally blurted, unable to sit on and watch as he moved about her room like a handmaiden instead of her intended. "About your brother." He paused to glance at her. "He was … kind, my sister says. I never spoke to him, not really. But I know he was a …" She looked to him again, praying he may step in to help her, but he didn't. "... good swordsman, and a … good brother, and … a-"

"He was a knight," said Willas. "Blood is the seal of their devotion."

 _A cold response_ , thought Arya. He may have been a knight, but he was still his brother. "Still," she insisted. "I am sorry."

"What need have you to be sorry?" he asked her with a smile, coming at last to take the seat her father had vacated. "It wasn't a Stark who killed him."

"No," she said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Of course not."

His eyes scanned hers for another moment, before gentle fingers brushed against her forehead, moving her damp, sweaty hair out of the way so he could lean in and press a kiss atop her head. Her first, she thought, as he pulled away, though she wasn't entirely sure it counted considering Robb had been the one to kiss her there last. "You're alive and you're _you_ and I can keep you safe here," he said. "That's all that matters now."

"You did say I should have a taste of summer before it fades away," said Arya.

"You'll have more than a taste," promised Willas. "When you're well, of course. My brother-" Willas hesitated for a moment, looking away from her. " _Garlan_ ," he specified. "He's heard of your training with Ser Jaime and he's keen to see what you've learned. He trains with three or four swordsmen himself, to prepare better for actual battle. I know you're not ready for it now, but-"

"You would let me train with him?" she asked. "With a sword?"

" _Let_ you? What kind of man do you take me for?" She could only stare at him. She didn't think it made him one kind of man or another to permit or deny her anything; it was his right, or would be, as soon as he was her husband. That was simply the way things were done. "I was not forced into this, Arya. I know what your father told you would happen if you failed to secure a marriage. This same threat was not held over my head. I could have married ten years ago or ten years from now and it would make no difference. I chose now and I chose you, and if you think I deliberately chose the most willful girl in the seven kingdoms because I hoped to snuff that out, then … you're not nearly as clever as I give you credit." Willas grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently between his. "When we're married, you will be afforded every freedom and every choice that I am, I promise you."

She didn't understand it, why he had chosen her, but the promise still caused an odd tightness in her chest. What would she do with that freedom? What was it she wanted more than anything? "And what …" she trailed off, looking away from him. "What if what I want is to go off to battle and kill Jaime Lannister myself?"

Willas smiled at her now. "Then may the gods have mercy on his soul."

* * *

 **A/N:** You know, normally for these author's notes I have to write some sort of apology for taking too long or because the chapter is too short but … today I don't! :P Enjoy this rare example of a long chapter posted on time!

 _Special thanks to_ :

 **Indigo Cain:** I also love our lil baby warg! It's super fun getting to write Arya as more capable with her warging abilities. She's also seemed to me as the one with the most wolf's blood, and I think if she hadn't been separated with Nymeria, they'd have started warging together as soon as Bran did. Neddard lives - for once, Sean Bean survives the first movie. :P

 **372259:** Oh my gosh I completely agree about being upset Rickon and Shireen died, mostly because I don't think either will die in the books. Like ... Actual Cannibal Rickon Stark is not going to come back from Skaagos just to get killed by Ramsay. He's gonna come back a beast and Shireen … okay, well, maybe Shireen might die in the books but I'm hoping not. :'( You've totally convinced me they're a great ship.

Good guess for Sansa! Since she couldn't snitch on Ned to get him beheaded, I tried to adapt it to fit this narrative. But yaaaayyyy Ned doesn't die! It's so fun to keep everyone's favorite Papa alive. :) Thanks so much for the review!

 **Arya xD:** Haha I would never abandon this story! I love it too much. I would also love to just write everyone falling in love with Arya, because how couldn't they? Alas … I could only give you one of your two requests! Ned lives, but Arya did make it to Highgarden. :P Thanks for sticking with the story!

 **Basker:** Arya _did_ warg into Nymeria and sacrifice herself for Ned. Fortunately, someone else was around to save her and Willas and Arya can still be together. For now. :P I do love my new job, thanks! And thank you for sticking with me, hopefully the new chapter being posted so soon makes ya happy! :)

 **Bella-swan11:** Aaahhh you're really making me want to write Jaime kidnapping her like Rhaegar! So romantic! ;_; Thank you for your review!

 **Emma3mikan:** Haha I'm sorry I left you feeling so nervous, but I've got to try to include cliffhangers SOMETIMES! :P Thank you for review, as always!

 **mirrormarie:** I'm always happy to find a fellow Dany-hater! :P I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far and I hope you stick with me! :)

 **Lauren Bull:** Haha I'm so glad I didn't lose you during my time away! Honestly, all of the people telling me what they want for Arya DID get a bit stressful, but I've started not reading the comments on the chapter before until I write the next chapter, and that's helped me out a bit.

Hahahaha I WISH I could've incorporated Gendry magically coming into battle to save Arya with his hammer! I WIIIISH! That would've been amazing! Sansa definitely needs tough love, but she won't be getting any from Neddard anytime soon. Maybe her sister will wisen her up a bit. :P

I'm glad you preferred this escape attempt more, because I definitely did too! Thank you so much for sticking with me and the story! :) 3

 **Everyone else:** Thank you so much for all of your reviews! I really appreciate them. :)


	12. Little Room for Sentiment

A week came and went at Highgarden, and then another, and one more after that. Ned Stark's leg grew stronger by the day, though he still walked with a limp. Arya, however, had made a full recovery. Most days she was found out in the training yard with Garlan Tyrell, who had delighted in taking her into his tutelage. She missed Syrio Forel, but she would see him again. The Tyrell boy was a far superior teacher than Jaime Lannister had been, or at least a much more willing one. She had been knocked to the dirt more times than she could count, and returned to her room every evening with fresh bruises. Garlan didn't treat her as a delicate, young girl, but rather the same as he treated any of the soldiers out in the yard.

She supposed that might've had something to with their other training companion: Brienne of Tarth. A monstrous woman, taller than any man she'd ever known, save the Clegane brothers. She was a terror with a sword, too, but she served more poignantly as an example for Arya. As proof that she could be exactly what she wanted to be, because Brienne already was.

The time she was not training was spent more uncustomarily. Some afternoons she spent reading with Willas in Highgarden's magnificent library. Others were devoted to spending time with her father and sister, walking about the gardens or swimming in one of the pristine lakes. Presently, she had been invited to join Willas's sister Margaery and his grandmother Lady Olenna for tea.

"Lady Stark," Margaery greeted, always rather formal despite the fact they'd met several times over the past few weeks.

Arya curtsied awkwardly, wondering if she looked odd attempting to curtsy in trousers. If she did, Margaery gave no indication. Although, she never gave much of an indication of anything. None of the Tyrells ever seemed to. "Lady Margaery," she returned. "Apologies for my appearance."

Margaery's brow knit together as she fought off a smile, looking the Stark girl up and down. She was covered in dirt and blood, her hair akin to a sweaty bird's nest. "Is there something the matter with it?" she wondered, leading the younger girl through the corridors.

"To see your grandmother, shouldn't I look more … like you?"

"Like me?"

"Clean, a dress," Arya gestured to her vaguely. "Beautiful."

"You don't think you're beautiful?" Margaery asked curiously. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, my sister-"

Margaery laughed before she could even finish explaining. "Has anyone who's not your sister and not _twelve_ ever told you you weren't beautiful?"

Arya paused to think a moment. "Jaime Lannister said I was horse faced," she supplied, remembering back to that first day they had met in Winterfell. It felt as if it had been years ago, when the reality was it hadn't even been one.

"From what I hear, Jaime Lannister is rather fond of you," said Margaery.

"Probably less so now," replied Arya.

The older girl gave her a knowing smile. "You're still young, Arya. You've got a lot to learn about love." Arya did not think Margaery was that much older than she was, but she reckoned she likely _did_ have more experience with the matter. "A man's affections do not sway so easily once captured."

"As you said, my lady, you would know better than I."

Undeterred by the dismissive response, Margaery pressed on. "I hear you've earned the affections of more than one Lannister," she teased.

"That's the one we'll be focusing on today," another voice chimed in. Arya all but flinched as she turned her sights on the old woman, sitting no more than a few feet away, surrounded by roses and beautiful young girls dressed in Tyrell green. She didn't know how she hadn't heard them. Perhaps that hit to the head had limited her hearing. "The Imp," Olenna elaborated, when the Stark girl merely stared at her. She had already dealt with one rather slow Stark girl that day, and her patience was well strained for dealing with another.

"What do you care about Tyrion?"

The old woman's eyes were unreadable as she flashed Margaery a look. Had she slipped up by calling him Tyrion? Should she have added a 'lord', or parroted the cruel moniker? "I care a great deal about him now that he's the Hand of the King," she said. "Come, child, sit down. You knew him quite well, didn't you?"

"Not really," she lied.

"You spent hours alone with the man in his chambers," said Olenna. "Whatever were you doing if not getting to know one another?"

Anger she had been suppressing erupted in her belly, like a hot, sticky sap, clinging to her ribcage. Margaery's initial discussion of Jaime Lannister had felt natural, as if it had been little more than a friendly conversation between two young girls. After all, Arya had been the one to bring him up. But things were becoming much clearer now. "Perhaps you'll get to the information you want more quickly if you stop asking questions you already know the answer to."

Margaery tensed beside her, but Olenna smiled. "My grandson said you were a clever girl," she said. "It's good to see he was right." With a flick of her wrist, the girls who surrounded them quickly flittered off, leaving the trio alone amongst the flowers. "We've all but declared open rebellion against the crown, and yet there have been no repercussions. No pillaging, no raiding of the common folk, not so much as a letter. Why do you think that is?"

"Tyrion wouldn't involve the common folk if he could help it," she answered with a shrug. "And I expect his father knows the suffering of peasants would do little to draw anyone of import out of Highgarden."

"Including you, Arya," Olenna agreed. "Including the noble Ned Stark."

Her teeth ground against each other fiercely as she tried to keep her temper under control. "Is that a question?" she asked, forcing a smile as she tried to summon her best attempt at a Lannister kind of aloofness. Jaime had always annoyed _her_ with it - perhaps it would irritate the old bat, as well.

"We have reports that the Imp has set sail from the capital," she said, ignoring the Stark girl's show of rebellion. Sansa was a dimwitted girl, but she'd been malleable and obedient. Arya, however, knew full well when she was being manipulated, and she didn't seem to care for it. "It would be wise of him to take a ship full of gold and live out the rest of his days in peace across the Narrow Sea."

The implication about Tyrion's character annoyed her, nearly as much as the insistence upon calling him the Imp. She knew the Lannisters were her enemies now, but it had been difficult to count Tyrion among them. She had seen Jaime's betrayal, she had felt it. Tyrion still felt like her friend. "He's more clever than wise," said Arya. "And braver than you give him credit."

"Then why?"

 _Allies_ , thought Arya. Or perhaps a diversion. He had told her no man alive was half so good a tactician as his father. Maybe he hoped they would focus their curiosities on him and pay no mind to the Lannister forces gathering under Lord Tywin's banner. She could see Olenna's eyes roll back into her head out of her peripheral, clearly impatient with waiting for her to say anything intelligent or useful. "Apologies, my lady. I'm only a young girl," she said. "I've no head for warfare."

" _Please_ , Arya," said Margaery, leaning closer as she grabbed Arya's hand between her own. "We're on the same side. We only hoped you could give us a better insight into what the Lannisters may do next. After what happened to my brother, we only … we only hope to avoid any other unnecessary bloodshed."

"I don't know him as well as you think I do," Arya replied. "But I think … I think he would know he has no hope for allies in Westeros. None worth having, at least. So he'd look for allies he could buy. Sellswords. The Golden Company, if I had to guess."

* * *

Tyrion Lannister had never been across the Narrow Sea before. He had never stepped foot in Essos; not until war had necessitated it. A war that could have been avoided, he thought, if not for his siblings. A trip across the sea that could've been skipped.

He felt ill at ease in the great city of Volantis. At home, he was unanimously despised, but he was also known. He was also feared. In Volantis, he was nothing and no one. Especially to Harry Strickland, who had, quite resolutely, laughed in his face upon his request to go to war for him. "You're all exiled Westerosi or the sons of exiles," reasoned Tyrion. "Should you not want to go home?"

"Aye," said Harry. "We'll go home."

Tyrion's brow furrowed; he had heard of the Golden Company breaking their contract with the city of Lys. It was the first contract they had ever broken, but he still didn't know why. "I can pay you double whatever you're getting now," he offered. "You know what they say, a Lannister always pays his debts."

"I'm not paying them anything," a new voice said. Tyrion's eyes followed it to a boy, young and tall and _silver_. He might've thought it a trick of the light, had the girl behind him not been equally ethereal. "Some loyalty can't be purchased, my lord."

"Not often said of a group of mercenaries," replied Tyrion, watching as the boy took Harry's seat and the girl sat beside him. "I had thought the two of you yet in the Dothraki sea."

The boy threatened to smile as a handful of Dothraki warriors filed into the room behind Tyrion. Bronn's hand fell to the hilt of his sword, but even he knew when he the odds were stacked unfavorably against him. Tyrion watched as two knights moved to stand behind the Targaryens; one he recognized instantly as Ser Jorah Mormont, but the other was a ghost. A man who'd been dead for well over a decade. "It would seem our spies are better than yours," said Aegon. "I empathize with your need for an army, Lord Tyrion, but I'm afraid I can't part with them."

"Well, I had to try," said Tyrion. "We've taken up enough of your time, I'll just-"

Aegon's eyes flickered over his head and suddenly a cold blade was pressed to his neck. "You thought we'd let you go?" asked the girl, Daenerys, if he recalled correctly. The last of the Mad King's children.

"I had hoped so," replied Tyrion.

" _Addrivat mae_ ," came the girl's cold response. She glared at him for a long moment, before looking around him when nothing seemed to be happening. He didn't know what she'd said, but he didn't imagine it was 'let him go freely'.

Finally, she turned her angry look on the boy beside her. "Now would be the time to propose a counter offer," he said. "Unless you would like to die."

"We could help each other," said Tyrion, not missing a beat. "You need your army to invade Westeros, but I could grant you free passage. We're at war with each other now, but we would unite against a foreign invader."

"Foreign?" spat Daenerys. "We were both born at Dragonstone."

"A very long time ago," said Tyrion. "Robert Baratheon was not a good king, but he also didn't burn his own people alive. There will be no welcoming return for a new Targaryen dynasty."

"When my dragons are grown, we will lay waste to armies and burn cities to the ground," threatened Daenerys, all fire and brimstone as her nephew sat calmly beside her.

"Three dragons or no, my lady, a united Westeros would expel you," he said. "And if not, you would be ruling over little more than charred bones and cooked meat."

Daenerys opened her mouth to speak again, but Aegon raised a lazy hand to stop her. She was not entirely deterred; she had always been close to Aegon, especially when they were still in Pentos at Illyrio's villa. He had been unwaveringly kind to her where Viserys had only ever been cruel. "You turn from me because I want justice for our family?" she asked her nephew.

"Justice is only vengeance in pretty packaging," he replied, quoting something Arthur had often told him as a boy.

"Justice, vengeance, call it what you like," said Dany. "The usurper butchered your father at the Trident. He caved his chest in with-"

"I know the story quite well," Aegon assured her. "I also know Robert Baratheon is dead. Shall I fight one ghost to avenge another?"

She leaned closer to him, grabbing his hand and holding it between her own. "The Kingslayer is still alive. The dog who stabbed my father, your grandfather, the man he'd sworn an oath to protect, in the back."

"Your father was mad," said Aegon, watching as Daenerys recoiled from him as if struck, dropping his hand and letting it fall back into his lap. "Viserys was mad. Might be that you're mad, as well." He could see Ser Jorah shifting uncomfortably in his periphery. "But I'm not. I would prefer to rule over more than ashes."

"And your mother?"

The mother Tyrion's father had ordered killed. The mother Gregor Clegane had raped and butchered. Tyrion swore he could see the boy's jaw clench just a little bit tighter, before he jerked it towards the door and suddenly his aunt was being led out of the room by a pair of Dothraki. "You'll have to excuse her," he finally said, turning his attention back to his Lannister guest. "She's rather … _sentimental_ for the family she never knew."

"And you're not?"

"There's little room for sentiment in ruling," said Aegon. "Now, let us get to the heart of this. What happens once we've helped you win this little war of yours? I can't imagine the boy will abdicate and pass the throne to me."

"No, I expect not," Tyrion agreed. "But it just so happens we've recently … _misplaced_ his betrothed." Tyrion glanced toward the door Daenerys had just walked out of. "He could do with another. And Dragonstone for you."

The boy finally smiled at that. "We're nearly there, Lord Tyrion," he said. "One more thing and we'll have a deal." Tyrion's stomach plummeted. He had already negotiated more than his father would likely approve of, and there was little more he could give the boy. "I know you have a spy placed among my ranks. Is it Magister Illyrio or is it Ser Jorah?"

Tyrion's eyes flickered to Jorah and in an instant a whip was locked around his throat, yanking him to his knees. Jorah Mormont let out a string of guttural sounds, the whip too tight around his trachea for words to form properly. He waited for the boy to speak, to ask the man why he'd done it, why he'd betrayed them, but all the boy offered was a swift swing of his blade and then Ser Jorah's head was on the ground as blood pooled up around him.

Tyrion could only gape at it as Aegon's attentions returned to him once more and he extended a hand towards him. He accepted it hesitantly. "Terms well struck," Aegon said, his smile now a full blown grin. "We'll set sail for Starfall in the morning."

* * *

The arrow near gave her a splinter as she let it loose and it flew from her bow, toward her intended target. Or at least close to it. She hit just outside the target, nowhere near the bull's eye, but what could she say? She wasn't an archer. She shrugged sheepishly as Anguy laughed at her from atop his fence post.

"I admire your commitment to trying," he teased as she came over to sulk against the fence beside him. She had shot nearly twenty arrows, but none had landed. It was fair to say her mind was elsewhere that afternoon.

"Whatever," she muttered, resisting the urge to knock him off the fence post. "Archery's for cunts anyways."

Anguy hopped down from the fence post, nocking an arrow on his own bow. "Language, little lady," he said, letting it loose and watching it sail right to the center of the bull's eye. Arya regretted not knocking him down when she had the chance. "Your father'll have my head if he hears you talking like that."

"And how _dearly_ you'd be missed," she grumbled, sitting down and leaning her head back against the fence post as Nymeria trotted over to lay beside her. Anguy merely smiled as he nocked back another arrow. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something. About the day we left King's Landing. My father's been … weird about the whole thing," she said. "It was like he wanted to tell me something about it at first, but he won't talk about it at all now."

"You're a skinchanger," the boy answered simply, not taking his eyes off the target. "He doesn't want you to know because he doesn't trust the Tyrells."

Arya sat in silence for a long moment, letting herself process what he'd said. It aligned with what little her father had let slip - his curiosity about her knowledge of the events leading up to their escape. How _had_ she remembered exactly what had happened if she'd been unconscious? Why could she still taste Sandor Clegane's blood in her mouth? She stared at Nymeria's head as it laid in her lap. "How do you know?"

"Your eyes were open when I grabbed you, but they were white," he answered. "So were hers, according to your father, and she did what no beast ought to be smart enough to. Why don't you try to do it again?"

Arya stared at Nymeria some more, concentrating as much as she could. She grit her teeth together and squinted her eyes together, but when she opened them again she was still in her own body. "How?"

"How should I know?" asked Anguy. "I'm not a bloody warg."

She glared at the back of his head before letting out a sigh, scratching Nymeria behind the ear. She would try to figure it out later, when she wasn't with him and no one was around to hear the weird sounds she made or laugh at the faces she pulled as she attempted it. "He doesn't trust the Tyrells?"

"Do you?"

She didn't trust Olenna Redwyne, that was for certain, and Margaery would tell anyone anything they wanted to hear. But Willas … "No," she finally said. "No, I don't trust the Tyrells."

Anguy smiled at her over his shoulder. "They've already cancelled the girl's wedding to Renly Baratheon," he told her. "Let's see how long yours holds up."

* * *

 **A/N:** Things are starting to … more noticeably divert from the original plot. Hopefully in a fun and interesting way and not in an 'oh god why are you writing this' kind of way. :P Enjoy!

 _Special thanks to_ :

 **LaurenBull:** Oh, you don't have to approve of Arya being with anyone! If you want her with Gendry, stay loyal to Gendrya! I don't mind. Every time I write a cute scene with Arya and any boy everyone acts like it's the definitive ship of the story haha. We're barely onto Clash of Kings material - it ain't over til it's over and Gendry still has hope. :P

 **Indigo Cain:** I feel like you're going to be totally disappointed with Arya/Olenna. Part of me agrees with you in thinking that she _could_ be a great mentor for Arya, but as much as I love the Tyrells, they're very ambitious and only loyal to their own cause. I like to think Arya is a good judge of character, and I wouldn't consider Olenna the most steadfast of allies unless you're her family.

Lmaoooo at Tywin hearing about Jaime getting stabbed by Arya though. I imagine it going similarly to when Robert heard about her taking Joff's sword from him.

 **Emma3Mikan:** I'm glad you think the story is balanced romance-wise! I try to do my best to keep it that way and not lean too much towards one ship or another. Thanks for your review, I'm glad you're still reading! :)

 **Arya xD:** I completely agree about hating Sansa's early arc - especially in the show. I like to think having an older Arya around to help mentor her would make her wisen up a bit faster. And I'm glad you're happy to have Ned still around! I couldn't kill him off just yet.

But quit trying to poison poor Willas! :P Cripples deserve love too, you know!

 **372259:** Aaaaahhh it's such a relief to hear you say you think I'm doing Willas well. It's a bit of a challenge to write him since we don't ever actually see Willas in book or show for me to properly characterize him, so I'm thrilled to hear I'm doing alright.

I'm definitely fearful of how people are going to react to how I've written Arya with the Tyrell women, as I don't think it went as well as people were hoping, but I've got to stay loyal to how I think Arya would react to them instead of how much I would _die_ for them to become a power trio.

Thank you so much for your continued support! :)

 **Mirrormarie:** Hahaha I honestly love Sansa, but I think being protective is one of Arya's strongest qualities, so I agree that she would make the better older sister than Sansa. Thanks for your review! :)

 **Everyone else:** Thanks for the reviews!


	13. From The Rose Comes The Thorn

_Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow._

There was a knot tied tightly around her belly as she crept through the castle as quiet as she could. It was late into the night and most of the castle was fast asleep, but there were still guards posted around every corner and there were doubtless several in front of his door. It wouldn't deter her - it couldn't.

Renly Baratheon had been all but forced from the castle, back to Storm's End where he and his 20,000 men would likely face a horrific fate at the hands of either his elder brother or the Lannisters. She was no fool - they were next. The Tyrells had grown weary of war after one battle. They had no quarrel with the Lannisters; it was Renly who wanted to be king, it was her father who had declared Joffrey an abomination. They were distancing themselves from their former allies and as Anguy had said, it would not be long before her betrothal to Willas was pushed aside for something more beneficial to the Reach.

But she couldn't let that happen. Her family was already at war. Her father would not bend to something he knew was wrong, and her brother had already called the banners. They would be marching south soon, with the expectations of the northmen joining 100,000 soldiers from the Reach. That had to be the way it went, and she was the only one who could make it so.

The two guards that stood in front of his door did not seem to agree. "Back to your chambers, girl," one commanded.

"I'm meant to be here," she replied. "You'd do well not to disappoint your future lady."

The guard smiled down at her, but it was not a kind one. "The future is never certain, Lady Stark."

A strong urge to kick him in the shin overtook her, but she doubted it would do much damage to his platemail. Instead, she threw her arm past him and into the door, knocking twice before he managed to snatch her by the wrist and yank her away. He had carried her nearly halfway down the hallway before a voice called out. "Leave her be," the tired voice shouted. "Let her come to me."

Arya resistated a second urge to kick the guard as she yanked her arm out of his grasp in favor of approaching Willas, who looked more wary than surprised to find her there. "I need to talk to you," she explained.

"Here?" he asked. "Now?" It was hardly appropriate and she knew it, but she nodded her head firmly. Willas glanced over the top of her head towards the guards, before looking back down at her. "I expect you'd better come in, then." It was silent as a crypt in his chambers, and near as dark. She stood awkwardly beside the door as he lit a candle, her hands wringing together. "Why are you here, Arya?"

Summoning up all of her courage, she forced herself to ask. "Did you mean it?" His brow knit together in confusion. "You said that you chose me, that you wanted this. Did you mean it, or was it just something to say?"

Realization dawned across his features, confirming her worst fears. He knew as well as she did that their betrothal wouldn't last the week. "I meant it," he assured her. "Although I'm beginning to think you may be _too_ clever."

She followed him as he moved to sit on the edge of his bed. "Your father doesn't want to go to war," said Arya. "Marrying me means you have to."

"My grandmother doesn't want to go to war," he corrected. "My father does as he's told."

"And what about you?"

Willas gave her a look, knowing exactly what she was trying to goad him into. "I'm not the lord of Highgarden yet." There was little she could do to stop the disappointment from pouring out of her. It was palpable in the room and it hung between them like an anchor. "There's nothing I can do."

"You're the heir to Highgarden, you ought to have some say in it," she reminded him. Tyrion, she was certain, would not roll over quite so easily for his father, and Lord Tywin was a much more formidable man than Mace Tyrell. She considered telling him so, but she didn't imagine being compared to the Imp of Casterly Rock would make him any more malleable. "One little battle and you're all wore out."

Jaw clenched tightly, Willas looked up at her. "One little battle that cost me one little brother."

Arya tried to imagine what she would've done if fleeing King's Landing had cost her a brother. Would she have rolled over, too? _No,_ she thought. _I would avenge him._ "He was right," she muttered, watching Willas' brow as it knit together. "Jaime, he was-"

"Don't," said Willas, his voice little more than a whisper but it held more authority than she knew how to muster.

"He said you wouldn't fight for me," she continued anyway. It wasn't something Jaime had ever said, but it was something he probably _would've_ said and Willas seemed to believe her.

"Is that what you want?" he asked. "Him?"

Was it what she wanted? She couldn't be certain. She didn't want Jaime - no, not the man himself, but she wanted a lion. She wanted a wolf. Someone who would fight tooth and nail for her, with her, beside her. Not some pretty flower sitting safely in a castle while the rest of Westeros burned. "I want someone brave," she finally said.

"Bravery and stupidity are two sides of the same coin, Arya," said Willas. "You may learn that one day."

"You think I'm stupid?" she demanded. Maybe she was. All she knew was she'd rather be stupid than a coward.

He hesitated for so long she nearly turned to leave. "No," he finally said. "I don't think you're stupid. I think going to war for a dead man is stupid. I think sacrificing my brother or my sister or my father or _you_ for a dead man is stupid. What difference does it make who sits the Iron Throne - if it's Renly or Stannis or Joffrey? Is it worth your father's life? Your mother's and your sister's?"

"Doing what's right is worth sacrifice," said Arya, though she couldn't but think about how those were her father's words, not her own.

"What if what's right isn't what's best?" he pushed her. "What if Stannis makes a horrible king, worse than Joffrey?"

"No one is worse than Joffrey-"

"Joffrey's no more than a boy, it'll be the Hand who rules," said Willas. "It'll be Tywin, or Tyrion. Both are very competent and some might even say Tyrion is a _good_ man. A good man who wants war no more than I do, who may rule Westeros better than Robert ever did, better than Stannis ever could. We should sacrifice our lives and the lives of our people to uphold a line of succession that puts the _wrong_ man on the throne?"

It wasn't at all how she'd been raised. These were not the values her father had instilled in her. And yet … she was struggling to tell him he was wrong. Tyrion _was_ a good man, and if not good, Tywin Lannister was certainly very competent. He had been the one to make House Lannister as formidable as it was - he could certainly keep the kingdoms in line, and maybe even help them prosper.

Perhaps Stannis could do the same, perhaps he couldn't. Finding out wasn't worth dying for.

Willas seemed to sense her hesitation and rose from the bed, his hands finding either side of her face as he forced her to look up at him. "I won't go to war for you, but I will protect you," he promised. "I'll keep you safe if you let me."

* * *

Nymeria let out a lazy yawn before rolling over onto her side to continue with her afternoon nap. They had been out beneath the willow tree for hours and the direwolf had grown bored long ago. Arya, however, had a much keener focus. She had been staring intently at the wolf for hours, and would likely continue for many more.

It frustrated her that there was nothing she could do to learn more about what had happened back in King's Landing. There were no books written on skinchangers. There was no one so far south that she could ask. All she knew was what Old Nan had mentioned in her stories, or from the legends of famous skinchangers like Varamyr Sixskins. Only descendants of the First Men could change skins, and no one's bloodline ran purer than the Starks.

If her father knew more, he wouldn't tell her. Maybe Jon had learned something at the Wall, but she had not been permitted to send him any letters to find out. All Arya Stark possessed was an iron will, and way too much free time.

"You're spending too much time in the sun."

Her father's voice pulled her out of her trance. She glanced up at him, startled, and he smiled, brushing his thumb across her rapidly reddening cheeks and nose. The sun wasn't something to worry about in Winterfell, but her skin had grown hot and painful more than a few times since coming south. "It's quieter out here," she said.

"That it is," agreed Ned, sitting down next to her and leaning his head back into the willow tree behind them. "I don't expect we'll be here much longer." She hadn't thought they would be. The death of her betrothal to Willas Tyrell had been announced days ago, and they were now overstaying their welcome. "You and Sansa will return to Winterfell within the week."

"But I-"

"Your brother needs you, Arya," he interrupted. A thousand different protests had bubbled up in her throat, threatening to spill onto her tongue, but they dried in her mouth. "Bran will be the Lord of Winterfell while we're away. He'll need your help." She pictured Bran sitting in Father's seat, looking so small and broken, facing down the other lords, and felt sick to her stomach. "I'll be leaving to join the Northern forces in the morning. The Tyrells will be taking you and your sister along the Mander. It's safer to sail to Moat Cailin than pass through the Westerlands. Willas will keep you safe." Ned had seen the way Willas Tyrell looked at his daughter; family politics may have gotten in the way of a marriage, but he knew how the boy felt.

Arya swallowed the arguments that kept sprouting into her head. "And Nymeria will keep you safe," she told him, scratching the wolf in question under the chin when she glanced up upon hearing her name. "A wolf doesn't belong at sea," she added when her father gave her a curious look. "And she's kept you safe before."

"I would feel better knowing she was with you," argued Ned.

"I'm going home," she reminded him. "There's not much I need to be protected from in Winterfell."

Truthfully, Ned felt lucky that this was where Arya had decided to put her foot down. He had expected a much larger fight, one that demanded she be able to travel with them. If this was all he need do to keep his most stubborn child appeased, he would do it. "Perhaps you had the right of it," he said. "Not wanting to travel South."

" _Perhaps_?" she demanded.

Her father laughed, the first she'd heard in a long time, slipping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her in close. "We'll join you back home as soon as we can," he promised.

* * *

It had been a difficult thing, watching Winterfell grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared as they marched South. It had been much harder to watch her father's body do the same as he marched North.

That was what she had told him when he asked her why she was so quiet. That had been a day and a half ago and she hadn't spoken since. Not to him, not to her sister, not to anyone. He had done well at continuing on as if nothing had changed, as if she hadn't told him he was the last man in Westeros she'd ever marry, but he had been raised on pretending, and Arya Stark had never learned how.

Sansa flitted about the ship, arm in arm with his sister, thrilled to have her undivided attention as they made their long journey home. He'd not even seen Arya sleep yet, choosing instead to remain in the bow of the ship, watching the sun as it rose and set and began to rise again. Hoping not to startle her with his sudden presence, he placed a gentle hand against her back, but she had heard him coming. "Are you thinking of your father?" he wondered.

"No," came her short reply.

"What is it then?" There had been a time where she would've told him.

"It's not too late," said Arya, her eyes never leaving the water below them.

She had told him with no uncertainty exactly how she'd felt about him. There had been little room for interpretation. "I thought your mind quite made up," said Willas.

"Not for us, for you." She looked to him now. "It's not too late to turn the ship around. We've not even reached Cider Hall yet." His hand slipped from her back and down to his side as she turned her attention back to the water. "After all those weeks we spent staring at maps of the Reach you thought I wouldn't notice we were sailing East instead of West?"

Willas sat beside her on the crate, leaning back into the railing, his eyes finding his sister, who watched them carefully while continuing her conversation with Sansa. "I'd half expected you'd jump overboard and swim yourself back to Winterfell if you ever realized," he admitted.

"And leave my sister with you?"

 _You_. As if he were the most disgusting creature she could fathom. "It was your sister who brought us here. It seems only fair she be the one to suffer for it." He watched out of the corner of his eye as Arya glanced over her shoulder to where Sansa stood, giggling and oblivious, before looking to him. "We'd always suspected her, and then she confessed it to Margaery. She told her you said not to tell anyone. Not quite as clever as her sister, is she?" Arya sent him a nasty look. Loyal to the end, he thought, regardless of what her sister had done to them. "Fortunately for Sansa, her stupidity didn't kill my brother."

Realization dawned across her features. She'd always been quick to follow, and now she understood why they were headed for King's Landing, what the Tyrells hoped to gain for their betrayal. "What would you have done," she asked, "had I wanted to marry you?"

"I meant what I said, Arya," Willas assured her. "I'd have married you. I would've kept you safe." He stood and gray eyes followed. "We'd have sent them your father's head in your place."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Phew! Sorry guys, that was another hard chapter to write. Things are a little … jumpy? I guess, between sections. I got tired of trying to force myself to write things to make everything flow smoothly enough and figured you guys would forgive a chapter that felt a little too fast paced if it meant me getting one out and getting to the part of the story I've been wanting to get to.

I probably say this every time, but once Arya is back in King's Landing, chapters will come out much easier and faster for me. I know exactly what I want to happen there, whereas I was struggling for a while with how I wanted everything to go with the Tyrells. Alternative scenario that almost happened: Ned taking the girls North himself, getting attacked by the Dothraki, Ned and Nymeria both dying. Aren't you glad I couldn't bring myself to write that? :P

 _Special thanks to:_

 **Indigo Cain:** I am _thrilled_ that my story is like your secret lover you're texting! :P You're also right about Arya and Sansa still learning from people they didn't actually like. That's always been my goal for Arya as I think she's always been molded by the people she's met in the story, so I'm having her get molded by different people. Hope you continue to enjoy! :)

 **Guest:** Oh, don't worry! There is plenty more Jaime to come. It's not a ship that you would think makes sense, but Jaime and Arya are both so easy to ship with everyone! Thanks for the review!

 **Mirrormarie** : I love her anticipating Tyrion's next move too! Them knowing each other so well makes me ship them so much. :3 Thank you for the review!

 **Lauren Bull:** Honestly, I don't think Arya would actually separate Tyrion from the rest of his family. I think he'd be part of the 'death to all Lannisters' thought process, but I didn't want to _write_ that, so I decided to stretch her character a little bit. :P

Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately) for you, right now I don't have a definitive endgame ship. I have ships that I know are _not_ going to be the end ship, but for the sake of keeping myself entertained while I write, I wanted to leave some mystery and wiggle room. But … Aegon is definitely a _contender_ for the final ship. If I'm being honest, right now I'm actually leaning towards Arya/Tyrion, but I have a fickle heart.

Thanks for the review, as always! :)

 **Live is Evil:** Oh, don't feel lonely! I ship Gendrya in the books well enough, but in an AU world, I definitely think there are a lot more characters that she is more interesting with. Who do you ship Arya with the most?

 **372259:** Hahahaha everyone is always so worried about the ships! I love it! Don't worry - all of the relationships will have their ups and downs, but none of them are decisively over until the fat lady sings and all that. Willas will stay in the running, just like Jaime still is.

I'm _so_ glad you like Aegon! He's a bit of a divisive character because he's not technically _good_ , so a lot of people don't like him, but maybe that makes a better character when people are split on how they feel about him? Either way, I'm glad someone loves him as much as I do. :)

Aaahhhh your review made me so happy! Thank you so so much! 33333

 **Eyann85:** Yaaaay someone else who likes Aegon! 3 Thank you for the review!

 **Jlove34:** I totally feel you on wanting to keep Ned alive! For some reason, I think pretty much everyone has a huge soft spot for him. And I agree about Olenna - she's definitely only out to protect her family, but I suppose that's true of everyone in Westeros to some extent? Thanks for the review! :)

 **Tigeress666:** Aaahhhh this was such a nice review! Thank you so much, it totally made my day! 3


	14. Harder to Tame

They sailed along the Mander for several more days, before marching a few more, until finally sailing into King's Landing. The first time they came to the capital, they had come along the King's Road. The Red Keep was much more formidable from the depths of Blackwater Rush. Even worse, it was very easy to spot a ship sailing into your harbor, and there were several golden heads of hair waiting for them at the port. Even from the distance, Arya could spot Loras Tyrell among them. He looked less shiny than he had at her father's tournament, but he was certainly alive.

Sansa had realized several days earlier what was happening. She learned things rather slowly, but she did learn them. She was holding back tears best she could as the sight of House Lannister came into view, but they were streaming down her cheeks all the same. Arya felt a different urge entirely as she felt the eldest Tyrell step up beside her. "The day will come when you regret this," she told him.

"I already regret it, Arya," replied Willas. His voice was as even tempered as it always was, despite the situation they found themselves in. He was sailing into the lion's den and still his face was impassive. Arya wondered if he truly felt nothing, or if he had learned to hide it in a way that she would never be able. "This isn't what I wanted, this is what it had to be."

"I'll tell you the same when the day comes," she assured him before stepping back further into the ship. There was no avoiding their destination, but that didn't mean she had to stand there and watch as it grew closer.

* * *

The younger Stark sister was in shambles as she was helped off the ship, her face red and splotchy and her cheeks damp. Arya appeared considerably less moved. Mostly she just looked mutinous, as if she wanted nothing more than to hurl each and every Tyrell overboard to see how well they could swim. His hand flexed instinctively at the sight of her, hovering over his ribcage.

The wound she'd given him had healed. Or at least as well as a wound from a Valyrian dagger could. He'd bear that scar for the rest of his years and he would think of her every time he saw it. It seemed to make Cersei think of her, as well. He suspected that was why she asked to see him less often now.

He felt himself moving closer as she stepped onto the dock, the cripple close behind her. He was too far away to hear anything they might say to one another, and he wanted to hear every last syllable. It was a wonder how they had gone from what they were last he saw them to how they were now. The boy had loved her, he knew he had, but he had betrayed her all the same. What had changed in the months since he'd seen them last?

But she didn't seem to care about Willas Tyrell. Her eyes had landed on Sandor Clegane instead, on the way he seemed to favor one leg over the other, and she smiled. Her eyes searched for him next, hoping to find him as damaged as the Hound.

She seemed disappointed to find him whole, but not so disappointed she needed to avert her gaze. In fact, she seemed quite content to stare at him. A look in her eyes as if he had been the one to betray her instead of Willas Tyrell. Her attention was only stolen from him when his brother approached her. "Lady Stark," he greeted. She appeared less sure of how she felt about him, her eyes darting warily between Tyrion and the pin on his chest. The pin that had been her father's not so long ago. "Shall I escort you into the castle?"

"That hardly seems wise," Cersei said, observing the pair just as closely as he was. "You've seen what that little beast can do with a blade. What do you expect she'll do to a man of your stature?"

Tyrion turned his gaze from Cersei to Arya. "I'll take my chances," he said. "With both of them," he added, beckoning Sansa to follow.

"The King and his betrothed have many things to discuss," his sister interrupted, halting the younger Stark girl with no more than a glance. Tyrion looked as if he just might try to contest her on that. "Be grateful I'm letting you take that one."

Deciding to take a win where he could, Tyrion glanced at Arya again before walking away, expecting her to follow. What annoyed Jaime the most, out of everything, was that she did. She didn't hate Tyrion, not like she hated him. His little brother had somehow managed to weasel his way out of that one, despite being the one to have orchestrated the entire damn thing. The Tyrells had refused to even receive the envoy Cersei sent to Highgarden. Oh, but they had received Tyrion's.

Jaime wondered distantly if his brother would tell her the truth. If he would openly admit that he was the reason she was back in King's Landing. _Likely not_ , he thought. Not for as long as the Stark girl favored him.

Her eyes were on him again as they passed by. Or rather, on the dagger at his hip. Her dagger. He could still remember the first time he saw her with it, her hands cut to shreds after protecting her brother from an assassin, and yet she had been practicing. _Every hurt is a lesson_ , he could hear her telling him. _And every lesson makes you better._ He wondered if she still believed that.

And then she spoke. Her first words since arriving in King's Landing, and they were just for him. "Someday I'm going to shove that through your eye and out the back of your skull," she promised, her eyes flashing from the dagger up to his.

"Why wait?" he heard himself asking. He pulled her dagger from its sheath, and handed it towards her, hilt first.

"Jaime-" his brother protested, undoubtedly giving him the most disapproving look he could manage. Jaime didn't particularly care, and neither, apparently, did Arya. She lunged for it, desperate and angry, but he had expected this and moved it quickly out of her reach with a laugh.

That didn't deter her in the slightest. Instead she grabbed the hilt of his sword, getting it nearly halfway out of its sheath before Bronn had her three feet up in the air, doing what little he could to keep her there without hurting her as she kicked and flailed against him. _There you are_ , Jaime thought. This was Arya Stark, not the calm, quiet girl that had stepped off the boat.

"Let me go!" she all but snarled, throwing her elbow up and back, straight into the sellsword's temple. Cursing, he dropped her, but caught her again before she could get too far. Jaime could hear Tyrion urging him to take her away, to get her as far from the source of her anger as possible, to get her away from _him_. "I'll kill him," he heard her say. He smiled as he watched them go, ignoring the tightness in his chest. "I'll kill him, let me-"

It was no easy thing to climb the many steps up to the Tower of the Hand. It was considerably more difficult when carrying a screaming, manic girl who had not stopped since they'd left the docks. She kicked against the walls, hurling Bronn backwards into the opposite. She threw her head back into his, leaving him with a bloody nose and split lip. Her nails tore into what little exposed skin he had. Had it been any other girl in Westeros, Bronn may have thrown her out one of the windows on the way up. As it were, he was thrilled to finally toss her to the ground in the Hand's chambers.

"That will be all," Tyrion murmured, dismissing him. Bronn gave him a look. The girl was clearly mental. Even now, she raged through his room, grabbing a pitcher of wine and hurling it at them. Bronn ducked, letting it shatter into the wall behind him as she moved to flip over his breakfast table next. "Go," he insisted.

Even without Bronn's presence, she did not calm. Perhaps, he thought, bringing her to Father's old chambers had not been the wisest step to pacify her. She continued her path of destruction until there seemed to be little left for her to destroy. Still, she was not satisfied, and instead turned her fury onto the very castle walls, hitting them again and again and again until the stones were stained red with her own blood.

Strength seeming to finally fail her, Tyrion watched as she slid down to the ground, her body concealed by an overturned armchair. He couldn't see her, but he could hear her. Her tiny, sharp gasps for air called to him and, against his better judgments, he followed them.

Her hands were slick with blood and they covered her face as she sat in the corner of his room, her body curled up as small as she could make it. She flinched as he put a hand on her shoulder, but did not immediately make to strike him. Considering this a good sign, he knelt beside her, letting his hand slide from her shoulder to her wrist, pulling her hands away from her face so he could replace them with his own, his thumbs wiping away the dampness on her cheeks.

Two words from his brother had been all it took to take the stoic girl on the ship to the mess that sat in front of him now. What, he wondered, would it take from him to put her back together? As she leaned into him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, Tyrion thought he would be willing to give just about anything to find out.

* * *

 **A/N:** Kind of a short chapter, but it was quick and it's got a fair bit of content to it. Yes, feel free to ignore me justifying my short chapters. :P

Casual question for you guys reading: how do you feel about ships? Like … does it bother you when a character has too many ships going on, how many do you consider too many, are you a hopeless romantic and enjoy all of the ships? I have so many characters I want to write Arya with, but I don't want to overload. Tell me your thoughts! 3

 _Special thanks to:_

 **Indigo Cain:** I love Sansa too! :'( Sometimes I feel bad making her do dumb things, but it was very in character for her in the beginning. Now I feel like I need to write a Sansa story to give her redemption from this one! :P

 **Andi:** Lmao at reluctantly … I guess I'm glad you liked it? Thanks for the review!

 **Lauren Bull:** Don't you worry one bit about it! Of course I love your reviews, but I completely understand needing to put work first. Trust me …. I really know. :'( This is why my chapters take so long hahaha. I hope everything is going awesome for you with that stuff!

As for Willas … don't worry. Arya Stark doesn't forget a grudge. :P

 **Mirrormarie:** You are so right - King's Landing chapters are always my favorite to write. The Lannisters are just naturally dramatic people, so they make for the most exciting characters. Thanks for the review, hope you continue to enjoy!

 **RedSabbath:** Noooooo I won't kill Sansa! I need to write her doing something smart soon so you guys stop wanting her dead. :P Jaime/Arya is the BEST ship! Thank you for the review! :)

 **372259:** Hahahahah your review had me loling. I _love_ that you take things that happen in the story so personally. I also love that the Tyrells being shitheads surprised you! I didn't want it to be too predictable that it was coming. And don't worry … Arya is all about that vengeance. Even in an AU, it wouldn't feel right to not let her want that. She will get some down the line.

I'm so glad you also want Aegon to just take over because like … same. :P I feel you about wanting Tyrion/Arya as friendship only, but he's definitely a ship. I'm on a weird Tyrion kick lately and my poor boy deserves some proper love, damn it! Thank you for the review, I hope you continue to get angry about what the characters do! :P 3

 **Arya xD:** What a nice freaking review! Thank you so much! 3 Ned is … unfortunately … so easy to write in character. You just gotta make him do the dumbest thing possible. :P

 **WhiteDragonWarrior:** Heeeeyyy thank you for joining the story! I'm glad you're finding things interesting so far, and hope you continue to! :)

 **FavFan:** Here is your answer for how things go! :P I hope you continue to enjoy!


	15. Every Hurt Is A Lesson

House Tyrell coming into the fold felt like the final nail in Ned Stark's coffin, at least from where Tyrion Lannister stood. The tides had finally shifted in their favor and they now possessed the overwhelmingly larger army. Even Dorne had pledged her allegiance shortly after the Targaryens landed in Westeros.

And the armies were but a pale shade of threat when compared with the three dragons that the pair allegedly possessed. Tyrion had not seen them himself, admittedly, but the rumor of their existence had spread through Westeros like wildfire. Oftentimes fear alone was enough to squash a rebellion. He had learned that much from his father.

Lord Tywin Lannister, however, was not a man who could be menaced by rumor. His only interest had been in the recapturing of the Stark sisters, and he had wasted little time in sending a letter with his explicit instructions for the girls. If Ned Stark would not bend the knee in exchange for his daughters' lives, the girls were to be married within a fortnight. The eldest to Tyrion and the younger to Willas Tyrell.

Arya Stark was being dangled right in front of his nose, but he feared should he reach out to grab her, she would be lost to him forever.

"Might see if you can trade," suggested Bronn, picking at his nails with a dagger, his dirty boots resting upon the table. "Younger one's more stable. Prettier, too," he added, glancing around the Hand's chambers to see the destruction Arya had left in her wake. Tyrion hadn't had the time to clean things up just yet. "Didn't you tell the Tyrell boy he'd still marry the crazy one?"

"Arya's the heir," said Tyrion, deciding it was best to ignore the rest. Objectively, Bronn was … not exactly wrong, about any of it. Sansa was more stable, and objectively prettier. He had, also, most certainly guaranteed Willas Tyrell that his engagement to Arya Stark would hold. But he had promised that at a time when the pair had still planned to wed. How could he be expected to uphold an arrangement that the boy himself couldn't maintain? "Or she will be if my father manages to kill all of her brothers. He won't give the North to the Tyrells."

"How many brothers does she have?"

"Four," said Tyrion. "If you count the bastard, but no one ever does. Three who matter. Robb Stark should be easy enough to kill now that he's south of the Neck, but the little ones will be trickier. No one wants to invade the North."

"Certainly not by land," a new voice agreed. Tyrion watched as Aegon Targaryen wandered into his chambers, his hands clasped behind his back. Tyrion shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the sight of the boy; he always left Tyrion feeling rather unsettled, but he was the newly appointed Master of Ships and Tyrion had called a small council meeting. "Are we invading Winterfell?"

"That depends," Tyrion answered, watching as Bronn made his swift exit and Aegon filled his empty seat. "Are we ready to invade by air?"

The boy smiled at that. "Not for a few more years, I'm afraid," he said. "But I expect ships ought to suffice if we sent them to Deepwood Motte."

Certainly they would, thought Tyrion. There would be little more than the Wolfswood to traverse before reaching Winterfell if they landed there. "You've thought about this before," he accused, flipping open his book to a page with a map of Westeros. It was small, and only major ports and cities were listed, but it was something.

Ignoring the accusation, Aegon placed a finger on Lannisport, sliding it up to Deepwood Motte. "This is the most direct path you have available to you. You might run into a bit of trouble with the Iron Islands, but a raven or two may serve to clear your path." He moved his finger again, landing on King's Landing. "While your men are sailing North, I'll take the Dothraki up the King's Road towards the Neck. We'll be loud, let them know we're coming. The Northerners will think I mean to attack Moat Cailin and send every available man to defend it. That ought to make Winterfell a bit easier to take and we should avoid heavy casualties on either side."

"I hadn't expected you to worry about Northern casualties," admitted Tyrion. It had been the Starks and Baratheons, after all, that had started the rebellion that deposed his family.

"It's easier to sue for peace with people you've left whole," said Aegon. "And that is what we want, isn't it?"

Tyrion had been so focused on the Targaryen boy he hadn't heard the other members of the small council filing in. Lord Varys and Littlefinger arrived first, followed by the new Master of Laws, Mace Tyrell, then Grand Maester Pycelle, and finally his brother, sister, and nephew. There was little good to be said of his nephew's rule thus far, but the boy was certainly more involved in his ruling than his predecessor had been. "Why are we here?" Joffrey asked as soon as everyone was seated.

"We're to decide what to do with our prisoners," said Cersei. Either she was a very good guesser or she had received a letter from their father, as well. "Have you sent the terms for surrender to Lord Stark?"

Petyr Baelish spoke before Tyrion ever had the chance. "They'll be rejected," he assured the group. "You know what they say about Starks. Quick tempers, slow minds."

A few grumbles of agreement wafted through his chambers. Tyrion grabbed the letter from his father, rolling it between his fingers. "Regardless, we have plans moving forward should he reject them," he said.

Cersei didn't hesitate in snatching the letter out of his hands, scanning its contents and scoffing before handing it off to Jaime. Tyrion watched as his brother read it as well, but looked away before Jaime could meet his eye. Mace Tyrell scrambled to try to reach the letter next but Jaime had it crumpled into a ball before he could manage. "What does it say?" demanded Joffrey, looking very irritated that he had not been the first to see the letter.

"It says your uncle is to marry Arya Stark," Jaime said before clenching his jaw tightly together to stop himself from saying more. Tyrion swore he could see the Targaryen boy smiling in his peripheral, but by the time he turned to look, the smile was gone.

"The older one was meant to-"

"Willas will marry Sansa," interrupted Tyrion.

"But he was meant to-"

"I expect Arya would slit your son's throat while he slept," Tyrion explained calmly, almost grateful to have Mace Tyrell to focus on as it gave him a reason to avoid Jaime. "There would be little benefit to the union if she killed him before he could put an heir in her. Sansa will be more manageable."

Mace looked decidedly displeased, but said nothing further as he sat back in his chair. With no further distractions, Tyrion's gaze drifted back to the familiar green eyes across from him. "You think she won't do the same to you?" his brother asked.

* * *

At night, she dreamt she was wolf, running through the Riverlands to the sound of thousands of marching feet.

But they weren't dreams, they couldn't be. She could taste the rabbits she caught, she could feel it when Grey Wind and Lady nipped at her ears. It had to be real, as real as it had been when they had escaped King's Landing, but it only ever lasted so long as she slept. It felt so easy to slip into Nymeria's head when she was asleep, like pulling on a glove, but she could never find her again upon waking.

Instead she focused on the rats, the ones that came in and out of her room in the night, their little feet pitter pattering across the stone floor. They seemed to grow louder with each passing night in the castle and she began to anticipate their scurrying, almost as if awaiting the arrival of friends. Sometimes she followed them, too, down deep into their little holes in the walls. They were the closest thing she had to friends in the castle, and they were her only visitors, save for the Grand Maester, who stopped by upon occasion to check the state of her knuckles.

She always received him as graciously as she could, most often by hurling things at him until he fled. Her bandages were in desperate need of changing - they grew more sore by the day, but she'd rather die from infected knuckles than accept help from anyone in King's Landing. She was surprised to hear her door opening again, as she'd just scared him off no more than an hour before, but she was quick to lunge across her bed and scoop up a wooden bowl, cocking it back and preparing to throw it when the old man stepped inside.

But it was not an old man who stepped inside her chambers, and the woman's presence alone was enough to make her drop the bowl. "Ever the little _beast_ , aren't you," she drawled, disgust etched into her regal features. Arya was surprised to see the door close behind her, leaving the pair alone absent any of the queen's guards. Perhaps Cersei felt confident enough that the consequences for harming the queen would be enough to deter her from acting.

"Have you come to play bed nurse?"

Cersei's lips curled into what almost appeared to be a smile. She has happy, Arya realized, far too happy to be goaded. Arya's stomach plummeted at the thought of what could have her so pleased. A defeat for the Northern army? Her father's head on a spike? Had Winterfell fallen? "He does like a bit of the back and forth, doesn't he?" said the queen. "He'd never fall for a pretty, dimwitted girl like your sister. I expect you liked that about him."

"Quite a long way for you to walk just to talk about Jaime," observed Arya. She'd have called him Kingslayer or something worse had it been anyone else, but the familiarity of his name had turned Cersei's smile sour.

"He'd have made you a fine husband. Better than you deserve certainly. Loyalty isn't something most men understand ... but he does. To a fault, some might say." Her smile was back in full bloom now, though Arya hadn't a clue why. "And the Tyrell boy … handsome and kind, isn't he? To be Lady of Highgarden ... a marriage any young maid might dream of." Cersei struggled to control her smile now, to conceal it and put on a serious face, but she succumbed to giggles quickly, sounding like one of the young maids she spoke of. "In the end, we do get what we deserve, don't we? A beast for a beast."

Arya Stark was a great many things, but slow was not one of them. The pieces had come to her scattered but she had put them together quickly enough. Tyrion. They planned to marry her to Tyrion. She didn't know how she felt about it, not exactly, but now wasn't the time to figure it out. Not while Cersei Lannister was watching her for any hint of a reaction. "Was he angry?" she wondered. "When he heard."

Malicious glee made way for surprise. "Why should he be? Ugly, little thing that you are, you're still better than he deserves."

"I meant Jaime," said Arya. "He must've been angry. That's why you're here, isn't it? I nearly killed him and yet, he still … _hoped_ for something, didn't he? Something that wasn't you." Arya wanted to smile, to show the same cruelty Cersei had, but she couldn't. "If only he hadn't joined the Kingsguard, it would've been him. He'd have left you behind and gone to Casterly Rock. He could have been happy and you would've been alone, and he was _angry_. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

The tension between the two women was palpable, but Arya was resigned to her fate. Cersei could have her drawn and quartered and she'd die well knowing she'd dealt a blow to the woman with her final breath. She began to suspect herself a greenseer when Cersei opened her chamber doors allowing her guards to step in and grab Arya by the arms. They dragged her from her bed and through the corridors, for long enough that she ran out of fight by the time they finally reached the kitchens.

She didn't have long to wonder upon their destination before it became evident. The heat from the massive oven stifled her breath as they drew her closer. Fire was a clean death, she told herself, trying as she could to steel herself against it in the few short moments she had left. The guards hesitated just before the flames, pausing to tear her bandages from her hands. She had a moment to wonder why before they forced her knuckles to the burning stone surface and all that remained in her brain was pain.

She screamed, louder than she'd ever screamed in her life, thrashing wildly about to try to escape the guards, but they held her there until the queen waved a lazy hand. Arya fell to the floor when they released her, the skin on her hands still bubbling. "There, now," said Cersei, crouching down so she could put herself at eye level with Arya. "We wouldn't want to lose you to an infection, would we?"

Cersei watched as the Stark girl's eyes rolled back into her head, finally succumbing to the pain, and felt her smile return again.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** You know, I feel like every single one of these is just me apologizing for taking so long to post. By now you all know I am garbage at updating regularly. For this chapter, I think I wrote it and rewrote three or four times and I'm still really not happy with it. I'm pretty sure someone is slowly sapping all of my writing abilities from me as the year goes on. I have forgotten entirely how to string words into sentences.

 _Special thanks to:_

 **Guest:** Whoa, that is a lot of reviews! I love when people discover this story and leave a review on every chapter. It's like I get to go along on the ride with you. :P Thanks for the reviews!

 **Indigo Cain:** Wait wait wait, you prefer Tyrion/Arya? But only as a bromance? Unacceptable! :P You have to go full romance with every ship I don't know how to make two characters just friends. Tywin will definitely be included, don't worry! Thanks for the review! :)

 **Ravensakurahermionearya:** Arya will meet Aegon soon! I have had their meeting planned for a long time, so I'm not going to rush it, but it should be coming in the next two to three chapters. :)

 **Mirrormarie:** I'm glad you support her little fit! I wasn't sure about it, so it's good to see people thought it was in character for her. And I'm glad I've converted you into accepting all 10 million of my Arya ships. :P Thanks for the review!

 **Anaeker1:** Thank you for the review! I love reading people's interpretations of what I've written. You make it sound way better than it is! :P

 **Bella-swan11:** I'm glad you're shipping Arya/Jaime! Hopefully Jaime will figure out how to not be such an idiot before it's too late. :P Thanks for the review!

 **Noeljulia16:** Por que no los dos? :P Jaime/Arya/Tyrion is the answer! Thanks for the review!

 **.792:** Ha I wouldn't give poor Sansa to an Umber OR Tormund. She deserves way better. As for sticking Dany in a tower somewhere, that's not a bad idea. But I hate her, too, so I'll probably come up with something worse for her. :P Thanks for the reviews!

 **WhoGirl13:** You know, I really feel like the luckiest fanfic writer ever due to comments like these. Most stories I see on here always get lame comments like 'love it update soon', but I always get these great, insightful and frankly, really helpful comments. You have a great point of view that gives me different ideas about what I'm writing and will hopefully help me make the best choices along the way.

As for Aegon, don't give up on him yet! :P Everyone always comes in with preconceptions for my boy, but let him have more than three scenes before you decide he wouldn't make a good match haha. Thank you for the review! I really appreciate it!

 **Arya xD:** Arya Stark, breaker of brotherly bonds … lmaoooo. Now that you mention it! I love your interpretation of the difference between Jaime and Tyrion, too. Tyrion, I think, gets away with so much because of how he plays things. Thank you so much for saying you love my writing! I really appreciate it and it helps me get out of writing funks where I don't think I can put words into sentences. :P

 **Ifyoudieidie02:** I don't know how this story has managed to unite all of the Dany haters, but I'm so glad it has! She's the only character I genuinely hate from the books! I'm also thrilled you enjoyed the story! Jaime/Arya is the easiest for me to write, so I probably like it the best too. Thank you so much for the review!

 **Andi:** Your wish is my command! :P I mean, I probably won't have Nymeria eat her. But I can promise Daenerys won't have a happy ending. Thanks for the review!

 **Sober Dogs Bore Me:** It's great to hear I'm keeping Arya in character! That's definitely something I worry about every time I sit down to write. Thanks for the review!

 **Guest:** It's my life goal to write Jaime/Arya well, so thanks for the review!

 **Jujingamay:** I'm glad you decided to read this story despite your skepticisms! :P And that you enjoyed it! I can't promise you Jaime will be endgame but he's definitely in the running. It's good to hear I can surprise you! Thanks for the review! :)

 **TalkingElephant:** Wow, that's high praise! The _only_ GOT fic you've liked?! Is this also the only fic you've read? :P I'm glad you're enjoying Aegon as he's definitely one of my favorite characters to write. And I so feel you on not being able to make up your mind on who she should be with. Welcome to my life! :'( Thanks for the review!

 **Everyone else:** Thank you for your reviews!


	16. Second Skin

She could scarcely recognize her own hands anymore.

Scarred and burnt, these were not the hands she had used to climb Winterfell's walls with Bran. It had been someone else entirely who'd sewn a hundred hideous garments alongside Sansa. Part of her wanted to be that girl again, happy and naive, but another part of her, the stronger part, would never feel satisfied until giving her enemies what they deserved.

 _Willas. Cersei. Jaime. The Hound. Joffrey. Olenna and Margaery._ Each and every one of them had purchased a slow and painful death from her, and she intended to deliver.

Arya glanced toward the door as it creaked open and felt her stomach drop at the sight of him. Where had he been a few days prior, when she'd still had some fight left in her? When her hands had still been able to form a fist? She doubted she could get a strong enough grip on anything now to throw it at him. Instead, she shifted her gaze back out the window, down to the city below. "Let me see your hands," he said.

She pulled them instinctively to her chest to keep them from him. It didn't deter him. He grabbed her forcefully by the shoulder, turning her around to face him, and pulled her hands from her chest, down into his own. Her hands trembled within his, still sensitive to touch, and she wanted desperately to pull them away. She watched as he ran cool fingers across the burnt, malformed skin, his jaw clenching and keeping him quiet. "Nothing to say," she noted. "A first for you, isn't it?"

"You shouldn't have provoked her," he said. An answer she should've expected; Jaime Lannister was not one for apologies.

"I wasn't the one that made her angry," she reminded him.

"No," agreed Jaime, "but you are the one she'll punish. Are you trying to die here?"

Arya smiled at that, too amused by the notion to contain it. "I won't go so quietly as all that," she assured him. If she knew anything about herself, she knew she wouldn't die in a castle. It would be out on the battlefield. The gods owed her that much at least. "I can handle more than a little burn-"

"But not _much_ more," he said. "You're not Sandor Clegane, Arya, you're not some battle hardened warrior. If you keep getting hurt like this, it's going to kill you."

It was probably a valid point, thought Arya. Even she was surprised to have survived her last run in with the Hound, and she doubted she could take many more blows to the head and still stay perfectly intact. Another hit like that and she'd come out sounding like Hodor, at the very least, but she didn't care about that. Not about any of it. She felt a bubbling anger boiling deep down in her belly and there was only one reason why. "Don't say my name," she snapped, jerking her hands out of his. "Like we're _friends_. Call me a little beast, the Stark bitch, whatever else you want, you don't deserve my name and I don't ever want to hear it from your tongue again."

"We're not friends?" he asked with a laugh. He didn't sound like he found it very funny. She watched as his jaw clenched and unclenched as he tried to bite back a remark and failed. "I could've killed you and your father absent an arm and both fucking legs, you stupid girl. The only reason any of you are still alive is because I-"

"Because you what?" she demanded when he hesitated. "Because you love me?" It took him by surprise to hear her say it, though it had hung between them like an anchor for a while now. "You love to let them think you do, don't you? Cersei and Willas. Does it make you feel normal to pretend you could ever care for someone that wasn't just a reflection of yourself?"

It was an observation he himself had made a thousand times over the years, and it had always struck him funny then. He wasn't smiling now.

Jaime gave her a long, hard look before standing, heading for the door without another word. She was surprised, for a moment, that he would leave without a cutting remark of his own, but the door opened to reveal her sister, looking small and afraid, and then relieved upon sight of her. Sansa was on her in no more than a moment, throwing warm arms around her neck and pulling her into a tight embrace. Arya looked past her to where Jaime still lingered at the door. He gave her one last look that she couldn't quite read before closing the door behind him, leaving the sisters alone. "I've been looking for you _everywhere_ ," said Sansa, sounding almost accusatory after the initial relief of finding her sister alive and in one piece.

"How?" she demanded. "They let you wander freely?" Sansa nodded, looking surprised to hear that Arya was not afforded the same. Perhaps freedom was Sansa's reward for going to Cersei; they likely wouldn't be there had she not. Or perhaps they simply knew better than to give Arya the space to conspire. "Did you ask him to bring you here?"

"No," said Sansa. "He came and got me. I didn't know where he was taking me. The queen said I'm to marry Willas, is it true? After Joffrey has his wedding to the Targaryen woman, they're going to have weddings for us. She said you have to marry the Imp. Do you think it's true?"

That Sansa would marry Willas in her stead was news to Arya. Somehow it hurt, down deep, like realizing something you feared was true all along. Perhaps if it had been Sansa engaged to him to begin with, he wouldn't have betrayed them. Disloyalty had rewarded him with the sister he had likely always wanted, she thought. "Better Willas than Joffrey, I suppose," she murmured, offering her sister a poor attempt at a smile.

* * *

The younger Stark girl had been summoned to the Throne Room several times in her few short months in King's Landing. It never went well for her, demure as she was, and Aegon found that he hated her. Her hands were always trembling, clenched together in front of her, her eyes always glassy and on the verge of tears. It was boring to watch her be tormented by the Lannister boy, day in and day out, but it wasn't as if he could get up and walk out in the middle of it.

He was almost grateful to find the other one had been summoned with her today. This was the Stark he liked, despite never having actually met her. He knew that she had lodged a dagger in between Jaime Lannister's third and fourth ribs, and assault on that smug cunt had more than earned her a certain level of affection. The mere sight of her tempted a smile from him, her arms clasped firmly behind her back and her eyes hard. She had ice in her veins, this one.

"Lady Sansa," the young king began, starting with the easier prey, as Aegon has suspected he would. "Have I treated you poorly?"

"No, Your Grace," the girl lied, her eyes flitting between the king and the sister behind her, as if struggling with how to appease Joffrey without angering Arya. "You have been more than kind, much more so than I deserve."

Joffrey nodded his head in agreement, relaxing slightly as he sat down upon his throne. "I've been merciful, haven't I? Despite the treasonous and pervasive claims your father made."

"It is far more than I deserve, Your Grace," repeated Sansa. "My father is a wicked man and-"

"And now he's rallied the Northmen behind my usuring uncle," he interrupted, and a wave of murmurs washed over the court. "They're calling him a king, my uncle Stannis," Joffrey regarded the girl below him as if she were little more than an insect in desperate need of crushing. "And here I had good news to bring, as well, but instead it's been soured by your father's endless treachery-"

"I had no part-" Sansa tried helplessly.

"Do _not_ ," Joffrey suddenly shouted, so sharply it made the girl flinch. "Interrupt me," he finished gently, "Don't you want to hear the good news?"

She nodded, "Yes, your grace."

"Good." Aegon could hear the smile in his voice and knew what news was coming. "I've taken Winterfell," Joffrey informed Sansa. Her gaze shot up to meet his, her heart fluttering to life as hope flickered in her chest, like a damp candle being lit for the first time. It wasn't entirely true, of course. The Golden Company had taken Winterfell on his own command, but it hardly seemed the time to make corrections. "I had every intention of bringing your brothers here, keeping them both safe until your father came to his senses … but now … we may have to use them to teach him a lesson."

Aegon's eyes flickered to the other Stark girl, who had taken a sharp step forward before Sandor Clegane put a heavy hand on her shoulder to keep her in place. Even Sansa had trouble keeping up her perfect Lady Stark facade upon hearing the news. "No," she said.

Joffrey's eyebrows flickered up, as if he'd been waiting for the reaction, for the slip, as if he knew she were merely playing a part, and was desperate to make her crack. "No?"

"Please," she added quickly. "Not my brothers. They're just … they're only children."

"All the more reason they'll help your father to see reason. Sending him their hands may convince him that attempting to take my throne is futile," he pondered aloud.

"Your grace," the girl tried to keep her voice steady. "Please, they've done nothing, they've only protected their home-"

"It's not about them, Lady Stark. Your father needs to be made an example of, and if his youngest boys are the way to do it … perhaps I should send him their heads. That would be far more merciful than sending them to him piece-by-piece … wouldn't it, Lady Stark?"

"No," she tried again, her lip quivering.

"It _wouldn't_ be merciful?"

"No," she said again. "Please, my king, I beg you, don't hurt my brothers …"

"How else will I show your father?" he asked of her expectantly, as if he already anticipated her answer.

"Me, your grace. Please, use me as an example."

"Well, if you insist," he said without missing a beat. "Ser Meryn." Sansa's gaze shot over to see Meryn Trant approach Joffrey, a crossbow in his hand that he passed over swiftly before taking his place again. Joffrey took his time to check the arrow that was loaded, then the tautness of the string, before lifting it to his shoulder and looking down the length of it as he put her in his sight. Her stomach dropped to her feet, her knees knocked against one another beneath her gown as gasps of shock echoed around her. "Now, the only remaining question …" he said with a sigh. "Do I kill you now? Or once I have your brothers in hand?"

In that moment, Sansa wasn't sure what would be worse. Dying there, at Joffrey's hand in front of the entire court, not seeing any of her siblings, her mother, ever again? Or living to see Bran and Rickon brought in and torn apart right in front of her?

But he didn't have them yet, she had to keep reminding herself, and the relief of that alone was enough to spring tears from her eye. She shook her head, pulling her lip between her teeth before Joffrey let out a sigh, "But your death now would be a waste, wouldn't it?" he dropped the crossbow, dangling it from his arm as he looked her over. "If we can't teach your brother a lesson, I suppose you'll have to do. Ser Meryn," Joffrey gestured towards Sansa as turned back towards the throne, practically throwing his crossbow beside it before falling gracefully into the seat. Sansa made a mistake, she tried desperately to always be aware at all times, but Joffrey had a way of keeping her attention. He was always the biggest threat in a room, and she'd nearly forgotten about his Kingsguard. She only realized what was happening when a shadow suddenly loomed over her.

She met Meryn Trant's gaze for the briefest of moments before the back of his hand met her chin, splitting her lip instantly. She let out a sharp cry, her hands flying to it, but not before she could feel the blood dribbling down her chin. She barely had time to react before he delivered a swift fist to her stomach and she immediately doubled over, the wind completely knocked from her. She gasped in pain, spraying the blood down her dress.

"Leave her alone!" shouted Arya, struggling desperately to get out of the Hound's grasps. It was only when she bit his hand that the massive man finally released her, letting the younger girl run to her sister just as Ser Meryn drew his sword. He swung the flat edge at her shoulders but the girl was quick and dipped below it and out of harm's way. She wasn't quite fast enough to dodge the second strike aimed at the back of her legs, and it sent her propelling forward to the ground beside her sister.

Sansa let out a choked sob as Ser Meryn tangled his fingers in her hair and yanked her up to her feet. He grabbed at the soft fabric at her back and ripped it at the seams, letting the cold air hit her back. He made to pull it down further when Arya landed a solid kick on the side of his knee, buckling his leg out from under him. Even from a kneeling position, the girl stood little taller than him, and she hit the floor fast when the back of his hand met her cheek. Meryn kicked her in the stomach, hard, for good measure as he stood, and turned his attention back to Sansa.

But Joffrey was less interested in Sansa now, and seemed more keen in breaking every bone in Arya Stark's body if that's what it took to keep her on the floor. He stood sharply and descended several steps upon seeing her rise, albeit with a bit more difficulty than before. "Ser Meryn, teach her to stay down," he demanded. This time when Meryn hit her, it was with a closed, armored fist, and she hit the ground hard. As hard as she had fallen, it took her no longer to rise again, spitting a mouth full of blood at Ser Meryn's face, before being struck yet again.

Sansa Stark's cries were piercing in the otherwise silent hall as those present waited with bated breath to see if the smaller girl would move again. Aegon thought it unlikely, as he watched lay still, only her fingers twitched in pain, but then the screaming started. A vile, piercing sound that sent a shiver up his spine, but it didn't come from either Stark girl. Instead, it was Ser Meryn screeching, a dreadful high pitched sound that did not sound as if it should've been able to come from him.

No one in the Throne Room moved now as the man convulsed where he stood, his fingers clawing frantically at the flesh around his eyes, tearing it off in bloody chunks. It was a horrible sound, but it was even worse when it stopped.

As if the very life had been pulled from him, Ser Meryn hit the floor and moved no more, his eyes now little more than red pools of mush.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hey, this was actually a pretty decent update speed as far as I typically go! A Christmas present from me to all of you. :P

I know I normally reply to every comment individually, but I'm so busy this week with Christmas that if I tried to, I'd end up not posting this for another few days. So, forgive me for not answering specific questions or comments this time around, but I'll get you on the next one. And, as always, thank you so much for taking the time to comment. It really does motivate me to keep going - and your comments always make my day! 3

Have a merry Christmas everybody!


	17. Protector

She slipped in and out of consciousness as they carried her up to the Tower of the Hand. A second trip for Bronn, and likely the preferable. It was much easier to carry the Stark girl up half a dozen flights of stairs when she wasn't ricocheting off of them, trying to send them both plummeting to their deaths.

But each step weighed heavy on Tyrion. It had felt natural for her to fight them tooth and nail every step of the way - that was who Arya Stark was, not the tiny, broken little girl gurgling up blood and flittering between life and death. There would have been no question in it had he arrived to the Throne Room any later. There was a call for her head that he didn't quite understand - Ser Meryn was dead, but he looked as if he'd had a run in with the Mountain, not a girl who could scarce reach the eyes that had been torn from his skull.

And yet he dare not disbelieve his nephew's claims. There had been a fear in his eyes, honest and consuming, and he did not doubt the boy at least _believed_ she had done something monstrous.

Arya looked even smaller now that she was upon his bed. It was a massive thing, far better suited to Ned Stark than it was for him. Tyrion wondered distantly if it would bring her some sort of comfort, to sleep in a bed her father had not so long ago. "I'll fetch the Grand Maester then," said Bronn, though it sounded more like a question as he hesitated a few feet from the bed.

"No," replied Tyrion. The last thing he needed was Pycelle up in his chambers, seeing him fret over the Stark girl. Cersei already had more than enough to torment him with, he didn't need to add his affection for Arya Stark to the list. "But find her some milk of the poppy."

And then they were alone, and the silence was deafening. He approached her side hesitantly, reluctantly, something in his chest tightening at the sight of the blood now staining his silk sheets, still dribbling down her chin. He had to remind himself that blood was good; it meant her heart was still pumping, that she was still alive.

It was difficult to find water in his chambers. There were several half full goblets of wine littered throughout, but there was only a small cup of water. One that had belonged to someone during their latest small council meeting he was certain; it could not have been his. He tore at his sheets with a knife, ripping off a large enough piece to dunk in the water and bring to her chin. He wiped delicately, as gentle as he knew how, but she still flinched, grimacing at the pain that shot through her body as he rubbed against what was likely a fractured jaw. "Nn," she tried to protest. It was the best she could do. It hurt too much to open her mouth.

"Okay, none of that," said Tyrion, understanding immediately. It was difficult to look at her in her current state, but returning her to normal would have to wait. Her eyes wandered then, taking in her surroundings. He thought she almost looked relieved to see where she was. Maybe she thought she'd be safe there, with him. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. "Arya." Wandering eyes found him again, but he suddenly found that he couldn't meet them. "I won't let this happen to you again." Doubt was etched into her features when he snuck a glance; doubt at his ability to protect her, at anyone's. "I swear to you, Arya, any man, woman, or child that puts their hand on you will not live long enough to regret it."

Her face contorted painfully as she struggled to open her mouth wide enough to ask the question burning in her mind. "Why?"

It took him aback, if only for a moment, and his eyes found the floor again. How could he look at her while the truth hung in the air between them? How could she even stand to look at him while knowing? "You know why," he told the floor.

He almost thought of clarifying, just in case she didn't, of telling her how desperately and maddeningly in love with her he'd been since quite nearly the very first moment he met her. He thought of telling her how fiercely he clung to her unwavering kindness and how he had catalogued each and every one of her smiles in the back of his mind to revisit when he found need. But the words fell short when she wrapped her tiny, trembling fingers around his. Her grip was weak but he strengthened it with his own, cupping her hand with both of his.

He didn't know what it meant, if it had meant anything at all. All he knew was what it meant to him to stand at her bedside, offering what little comfort he could until Bronn returned with the milk of the poppy and she finally succumbed to a peaceful rest.

* * *

Milk of the poppy weighed heavy on her as she tried to swim her way back to the light. She had been asleep for days, perhaps even longer. It was difficult to track time in dreams and she had drifted through many, but none had been so frightening as the vision sitting at the foot of her bed. "Hello, little wolf girl," it greeted her, little more than a blurred frame to her weary mind.

She choked out an attempt at a question, descending into an agonizing coughing fit soon after. She had been able to speak in her other dreams, only now could she feel the pain of the choices she had made what felt like an eternity ago.

A warm hand found her cheek as she coughed; no, more than warm, it felt like fire against her skin, and then a cup was being brought to her lips. Milk of the poppy again, she feared, and struggled against it with weak hands. "It's only water," the voice told her, patient as she fought against it until finally giving in, accepting what was, to her surprise, really only water.

And then the bed beneath her shifted as the figure moved away, settling back in its original spot. She struggled to gain enough clarity, to force the world to stop spinning, long enough to make out more than just the outline in front of her. He came together in pieces, his hair forming first, a startling shade she could scarcely name, before the rest of him came into view. His legs were crossed as he watched her patiently, picking underneath his nails with the tip of a dagger. She had seen the Targaryen boy before, sitting in the Throne Room only a few steps away from Joffrey. He was difficult to miss, even in a crowded room. "Why," she managed to ask.

"Why am I here?" he guessed, a smile playing on his lips as he watched her. Part of her wished he would look away; there was something to his presence that made her feel smaller and uglier than she was, and she doubted her swollen eyes and blood stained chin were making her look anything but a beast to him. "Well, I quite liked your performance in the throne room. I thought we could talk about it."

"I don't-"

"You're a skinchanger, aren't you," said Aegon. It wasn't a question, though he had phrased it like one. "Though I've never heard of anyone changing skins with a human."

"What's a skinchanger?"

Aegon's smile only grew. "You don't have to be afraid. We're friends, you and I."

It felt more and more like a fever dream the longer he spoke to her. She wouldn't have believed any of it to be real if not for the pain. "I don't think that we are," she argued.

"Would you feel differently if I told you I was housing your brothers? Keeping them warm and safe and far away from all of your Lannister friends?"

The mention of Bran and Rickon made her stomach ache. She had thought nothing of them in her delirious state, but it all came rushing back to her now. "If you have my brothers it's because you took Winterfell," she said.

"Someone had to take it," he replied. "How long did you think a castle would stand with no more than a crippled child at its helm? Someone would've taken it, someone who wasn't your friend, and your people would've been killed and your brothers ransomed. But no one will take Winterfell from me, and your little brothers are the only safe Starks in Westeros."

He was crazy, thought Arya. He had to be. Either he was absolutely insane or he thought she was such a great fool she'd believe it. "You think I'm stupid," she accused. Did he really think he could play both sides and she'd just blindly go along with it?

"No, I didn't expect you'd trust me. I had hoped, of course, to save us both the time, but I've learned patience over the years and I'm willing to indulge your desire to do this the hard way. That's why I've come bearing gifts." He smiled again as he flipped the dagger in his hand, extending the hilt of it towards her. Arya all but lunged for it, grasping it desperately with both hands and pulling it back to her chest. The cold steel felt right in her hands. "I knew we understood each other!"

He knew the right kind of present for her, she would admit, but nothing was ever free. The dagger would have a cost, likely higher than she would be able to pay. "If you want someone dead, kill them yourself." As much as it pained her, she offered the dagger back to him, but he ignored her, standing instead.

"Kill whoever you like. The King, the Queen, Ser Jaime," he added with a smile. "Whatever you do, I'll protect you and then we can begin."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Myyyyyy goodness! What a lovely group of people you all are! It's crazy how many reviews the last chapter got, and how kind they all were! Thank you thank you thank you, you really do keep me going when I don't feel like writing. 3

I think I'll be here all day if I try to respond individually to everyone's messages, so I'll just speak on a few things that may require commentary.

 _The current sailing ships in this fanfic are:_ **Arya/Jaime** , **Arya/Tyrion** , **Arya/Aegon** , and **Arya/Willas**. Yes, Willas is still hanging in there for you people who were wondering. :P I know some of you are not into Arya/Tyrion, but I've grown to love the pair too much together to stop now.

 _Will I write Arya with (insert character here)?:_ Honestly, all of you just want to know about Gendry, but I'll make it a blanket statement. I know exactly what I want to write and how I want to write it up until a certain point in the story. I haven't decided yet if that will be the story's conclusion, or if I'll continue beyond it. If I continue beyond it, there is always a possibility of adding new romantic interests for her.


	18. Let This Be A Lesson

One, two, three, four, five, six. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as her eyes fell upon the noticeably understaffed King's Guard. A fortnight had passed since her encounter with Ser Meryn Trant and they had not yet found a suitable replacement for the man.

Many things had changed during her time in relative captivity. She had not left the Tower of the Hand until necessity in the form of a royal wedding had demanded it. It wasn't every day you got to watch an inbred bastard King marry a banished member of the Targaryen dynasty, but it was Tywin Lannister who held Arya's attention on the day. He was tall, taller than even Jaime, and though he was decades older than her own father, he scarcely showed it. She found herself oddly grateful for the distraction that had called him away from the battlefield.

A tall figure slipped into the empty chair beside her. She had been far removed from the rest of the festivities but it hadn't stopped him from seeking her out. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, jealous of the little, golden flowers stitched into his tunic. They had left him fully intact while stripping her of her own identity, dressing her up in Lannister red. Or perhaps it was Targaryen red, she couldn't be certain. It didn't suit her either way. "I thought they'd keep you hidden a while longer," he told her.

"Disappointed?" she wondered.

"In your current state, certainly," said Willas.

"You traded me like cattle to a family of butchers," she reminded him, clenching her jaw tightly when her voice grew unexpectedly thick with the accusation. She had thought it a thousand times, replaying the betrayal over and over, but it was much more emotionally taxing to put her voice behind it. "How did you expect I would be treated?"

"Better," he answered simply. She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. She should've known better than to expect it. A face of impassivity was Willas Tyrell's greatest strength; it was impossible to know how he felt, or if he felt anything at all. Everything was a performance, absent any true sentiment. "A lovely bride, wouldn't you say?"

Arya's eyes shot to the Targaryen girl who stood in a gown of white silk and Myrish lace. She was small, Arya noted, shorter by a head than either Margaery or Cersei, and petite, looking as if she carried not a single ounce of excess fat. Her lips, though full and pink, formed a tight straight line, suggesting she was not easily approached. Also contributing to this impression were her small, upturned nose, protruding cheekbones, and long, arched eyebrows. All of these were arranged to sit in a rather pleasing oval shape, however, and while tastes may differ, Arya doubted many would object to calling her a very beautiful woman. The only problem with her face was its expression; cold eyes stared out with a air of superiority, and each forced smile was little more than exposed teeth. "Have you come all this way in the hopes of exchanging pleasantries?"

"No, I've come all this way because your sister and I will be wed within the week," said Willas. Arya couldn't think of a conversation she wanted to have less. "We'll all be returning to Highgarden shortly after the ceremony. Including you."

Her head struggled to wrap itself around the words she was hearing, suspecting her ears were playing tricks on her, fabricating the sounds she wanted to hear instead of providing her with truth. "Shall we try riding out through the Mud Gate again? It went quite well last time."

Willas threatened a smile, one that almost looked sincere. "I thought we might take a different route," he said.

Arya turned in her chair to stare at him, her mouth falling open in a question she never asked. Willas kept his eyes forward, watching the proceedings with an eerie sense of calm, as if he wasn't conspiring with her on a plan to escape King's Landing. "So what," she began, "a few bruises and now … now, what? You've realized you made a mistake? It's finally time for a change of plans?"

"No, Arya, this was always the plan," said Willas. "I would've liked to tell you from the start but I thought it best to keep a girl so prone to sharing secrets in the dark about my own." Her eyes found Sansa, sitting frozen in her seat, staring out in the crowd before her without really seeing. It was true that her sister hadn't shown an ability to keep secrets. "I told you I'd keep you safe and I meant it. I had hoped we'd have long returned to Highgarden by now, but things have grown … complicated. I am sorry for that."

"I don't believe you," she said.

His eyes shifted, moving to look at her sidelong. "If I had asked you to play prisoner to the Lannisters so that I could save my brother's life, what would you have said?" Arya swallowed, the obvious answer on the tip of her tongue, but she refused to say it. "You would've said yes without hesitation, because that's who you are. There's nothing more important to you than family. You would've risked yourself a thousand times over to save him because you're brave and you're loyal and you'd fight the bloody Mountain to protect one of your friends and that's why I love you. You don't have to believe me, but I do. I always have. I told you you were a choice and I meant it. If I had my way, we'd live out the rest of our days in peace watching our children and grandchildren grow old, but this war has other plans for us."

A pair of hands suddenly grasping her shoulders nearly stole the life from her. She might've leapt six feet in the air had the hands not been keeping her in place. "Ser Jaime," Willas greeted her attacker with a smile. "To what do we owe the great pleasure of your company?"

"The King has need of her," answered the unmistakable voice. Now that she knew who it was, Arya felt a strong urge to throw her elbow back into his nose. "Surely you can part with her for a time."

"Anything for our king," Willas replied without missing a beat.

Jaime paused for a short moment, waiting for Arya to stand on her own. When she didn't, he tried to hook his hands beneath her shoulders to lift her, but she jerked sharply out of his reach, standing on her own. She moved slowly, deliberately so, as if dreading what she'd find at the end of her walk. Jaime glared at the back of her head, wondering if she'd learned the trick from the Tyrell boy. The truth was her mind was somewhere else entirely, on the back of a horse, or perhaps a ship, sailing away from this castle never to return. It was against her better judgment to believe Willas and one had to be a great fool to hope for anything in Westeros, but she hoped all the same. She hoped that she hadn't been as wrong as she thought to trust him, that he had cared for her, truly, and that she would be reunited with her family again soon. All she had to do was wait. "I had thought you'd be pleased to get away from him," he noted.

Arya turned on him sharply. "Is that what this is? Did you come to save me from him? Rescuing distressed maidens as per your knightly duty?" she wondered. "I do rest easily, Ser Jaime, knowing I have your honor to rely upon."

His expression darkened and he shoved her in the right direction, sending her closer to her destination, no further than a foot from the king. Arya's eyes fell on Sansa, who already stood beside Joffrey, her hands clasped tightly together, before his eyes fell on her. He looked delighted to see her, casting his goblet of wine onto a servant passing by before clapping his hands together to call the attention of those around him. When all was quiet, he addressed the crowd. "It is a great honor for all of you to attend today, to be granted the privilege to witness such a momentous union in history," said Joffrey. "And yet, I would offer you even more, to allow you to witness the gift bestowed upon me by my new wife and brother." Arya searched for Aegon in the crowd, finding him quickly, but his attention remained firmly on the king. "Clegane, bring them in!"

The first thing that hit Arya was the stench. It consumed her entirety, eliciting a couch as she tried to force it out of her lungs. She'd never smelled anything so foul and quickly covered her nose and mouth with her hands. How the Hound stomached it, having it draped over his shoulder so close to his mouth, she couldn't imagine.

And then he dropped it to the ground, near her feet, and the blanket it was wrapped in splayed open, revealing its contents but answering none of her questions. It looked like a log someone had left in the fire too long, more ash than anything. But wood didn't smell like that. Wood wasn't shaped like that.

"Let this be a lesson that _treason_ will never be tolerated for so long-" Joffrey continued, words she'd likely heard him say before fading into a loud ringing sound that overtook the rest of her senses. The stench had all but left her, and she could scarce see the two, tiny little bodies that lay before her. It was what they were, bodies, too small to have been anyone over the age of ten. She seemed to have forgotten how to breathe as she stared down at them, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

A warm hand on her shoulder was all that brought her back to the world. She wondered briefly if it was meant to be comforting before remembering it was Jaime who stood behind her. Had he known, she wondered. Had he already known when he approached? Had he known for days that her little brothers had been reduced to … this? That Bran would never chase her through the training yard again, that little Rickon could never sneak into her bed at night after Old Nan told him a frightening story.

Her body moved without her consent, stepping closer to Joffrey, who still spoke loudly to the crowd around him. She couldn't hear it. She couldn't hear anything but her own heart, pounding frantically against her ribcage. She couldn't feel anything but the cold steel pressed against her armpit. She reached for it, slowly at first, and then lightning quick, wrapping her fingers around its hilt and lodging it into Joffrey's throat mid-sentence.

The world around her seemed to stop, falling silent and still as those around them tried to process the scene before their eyes.

And then she pulled the knife back out, a tiny dot of red appearing at his throat before a waterfall followed, his blood pouring life back into the world as she was grabbed by half a dozen different hands and a blood curdling scream replaced the ringing in her ears.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** After some serious prodding from a friend *coughCourtneycough*, I've managed another update. Hopefully you enjoy it. :) The person who said they wanted to hear from Willas again definitely should. :P

Thank you guys, as always, for all your wonderful reviews on the last chapter. I'm especially pleased that so many of you seem to be enjoying Aegon as he's my favorite character to write. To address a few of your questions:

Yeah, Arya has a lot of suitors. My main motivator for writing this story and continuing to update it is the romance. If you've come here for anything else, you're in the wrong place.

As for what's happening on the Stark front - they've aligned with Stannis the Mannis but I haven't delved any deeper into it than that. You'll get an update on them soon. :)


	19. All For Nothing

Blood had always been an enigma for Jaime. He wore his own blood as a badge of honor. _All knights must bleed, Jaime. Blood is the seal of our devotion._ It was the blood of others that had always puzzled him; he could still remember clearly the first time he'd seen a man beheaded, the blood oozing from the fleshy stump that had once been a neck. He had been only a boy of six but ready to learn the ways of a man. It had been nearly thirty years and he could still see the blood so vividly in his mind.

The sight before him now would likely stay with him even longer. A small, black trickle of blood was trailing down an impeccably embroidered, golden wedding tunic leaving a string of red in its wake. _Lannister colors_ , he thought vaguely. They were the only thoughts that came to his mind for a long, quiet moment as the world around him stood in place.

It was Cersei's scream that brought the world back to life, as the trickle of blood grew into a river.

Hands found Joffrey first, propping the boy up before his legs could give out from under him. Perhaps they thought there was something to be done, that it looked worse from a distance than it had been. Jaime knew better, and so did Sandor Clegane as he stepped past the king he knew he could do nothing for in favor of the girl who'd just committed regicide. Arya stepped away from him, back into Jaime, and he grabbed her firmly by the shoulders.

Jaime was the Lord Commander and there were few who would question his apprehension of Arya Stark. Unfortunately for Jaime, those few were currently present. He had never Cersei sound the way she did now, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when she screamed his name. _Take her_ , she screamed next. _Take her, take her, take her_. Take her from _him_ , he quickly realized, and soon his hands were only two of the many that grasped at Arya Stark's tiny, little body.

He slipped one arm around Arya's middle and then the other. It was all he could do to keep her as the others pulled, like a painful game of tug of war that he thought himself very likely to lose. It might've been kinder to let her go, he thought, but he did not expect she would make it to the dungeons in anyone's hands but his own. Her arms were already bleeding and bruised from the fingernails tearing into her skin to get a stronger grip, and only her screams of pain threatened to drown out Cersei's.

And yet, she fought back, ever proving herself to be the feral little wolf girl they all thought she was. She kicked and thrashed against armored knights, even as they tore her arms out of their sockets. It was then that Jaime realized, perhaps he ought to fight back, as well. After all, he had never been one to shy away from confrontation.

The world went quiet again when he pulled his sword from its sheath, holding it level at Sandor Clegane and any other man in his general vicinity, keeping his other arm around Arya's middle as her screams faded into little gasps of pain. No one wanted to be the first to move. Jaime was, admittedly, severely outnumbered, but the men who knew him best knew that when he fell, he would not be the only one.

* * *

Arya's entire body felt as if it were a bell that had been rung, vibrating all over. She was no longer at the wedding, but in the dungeons, where the air was damp and cool, and yet she felt _hot_ … feverish even. She realized suddenly she was shaking.

"... were you _thinking_ ," she heard Jaime hiss, sounding as if it were not the first time he had asked. "What were you thinking?" he demanded once more, but she couldn't find the words to answer him. She had been thinking a great many things at the time, she imagined, but none of them came to mind. All she could think about was how her hands were stiff with dried blood. How long had it taken them to get down to the dungeons? She could scarcely recall the journey. She made an attempt to flex her fingers only to feel the blood crack between them. Seemingly annoyed by her lack of response, Jaime grabbed her firmly by the arm and wheeled her around to face him, catching her by the chin and forcing her eyes to meet his. His eyes were wild, his hair disheveled. She hardly recognized him from the carefree man she'd always known. "You stupid, _stupid_ girl, do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I killed the king," she answered breathlessly, staring past him for a moment. At least she thought she'd killed him. His pretty white wedding cloak had been awfully red last she'd seen it. Truthfully, she'd never felt more alive though she imagined that feeling would fade quickly when anyone but Jaime got their hands on her. She shifted her gaze back to him. He looked terrified, though she wasn't sure why. He hadn't been the one to kill a king. Not this time. She tried to let the memory of what had happened after she'd pulled the dagger out of Joffrey's throat come back; Jaime had been the one to grab her, he'd been so close. She could remember the pain as people had torn at her, trying to tear her from his grasp. But he hadn't let her go. She remembered his sword, pretty and clean and gleaming in the sun as he held it towards his sword brothers. For her. To protect her.

Her heart had been racing before, overcome with the adrenaline, but it was nearly unbearable now. She could feel it thudding up in her throat and it was making her head feel light. Her hand was still trembling, whether from pain or something else, as she reached up to touch Jaime's cheek. What would happen to him now? He had done something very foolish for her, but he was still the Lord Commander. He was still Tywin Lannister's son.

But it wasn't fear for his life that churned in her belly now, but rather the fear that she could no longer deny a truth she had fought so long against. She had denied the notion of his feelings for her, and hers for him, for so long that the plaintive realization she could no longer do so was staggering. Perhaps even worse was the realization that followed: that he had, perhaps, loved her all along. That she had rejected this simple truth for nothing, that she had destroyed and betrayed her own happiness for _nothing_.

Most painful of all was the final realization: that she had figured this out too late for it to matter. That she would be dragged to the Sept of Baelor and beheaded in the morning without so much as … her eyes drifted down to his mouth and she pulled him lower, receiving little resistance.

She kissed him, clumsily, there was a disconnect between what her brain was telling her lips to do and what they were actually doing. Jaime took over quickly and she took a sharp breath when he did, grabbing at her without thought. She let out a whimper of pain when he met a cut or scrape on her body from the scuffle. For half a moment, he thought perhaps she had changed her mind, that she might have been trying to fight him off. It was only when she let out a particularly painful gasp and he tried to pull away that she dug what remained of her nails into his scalp and dragged him closer, her lips crashing against his and removing all doubt from his mind.

She put all her body weight against him and he took a step back. For a moment she had him pinned to the wall before he quickly lifted her up and switched places with her. Her legs wrapped around his waist as their mouths fought for dominance over one another's. "Arya," he moaned and she let out a noise that bordered on feral. He kissed down her neck, his fingers pressing firmly into tender parts of her back as he tried to hold her impossibly closer.

Their kisses became feverish; we wanted more of her, all of her, and she seemed to want just as much of him. All he could think about was touching her; she pulled at his armor and he kissed down her neck, his own fingers were pulling at her tunic, exposing her collarbone and taking it greedily between his lip, her skin between his teeth.

Then he was jerked back and for a moment he thought she had somehow managed to push him away, but no, someone else entirely had a hold on his arm, on both of them, and he was forced to let her go before he could even understand what was happening.

Jaime's first feeling was confusion; his brain was slow and foggy, but he soon became indignant. He was a Lannister, the brother of the queen, the Lord Commander of the King's Guard, and yet several pairs of hands were upon him as they forced him out of Arya's cell, slamming it shut and locking it behind them.

The order to retrieve him from the dungeons by force would've had to come from someone above even him, and that was a very short list with a very terrible name at the top.

* * *

Tyrion's thighs were on fire when he finally reached the Tower of the Hand. His pride had given out at least two hundred stairs ago and he might've asked Bronn to carry him the rest of the way had the man been at his side. The room fell silent as he threw the door open, finally joining those with longer legs that had arrived long before him. "A noble cannot," he began, before pausing to catch his breath, "be denied a trial." His father watched him with cool eyes, while Cersei's face was red and contorted into something unrecognizable behind him. "You mean to kill her, don't you?"

"I would advise against an emotional plea to rescue a girl that just murdered your nephew," Tywin drawled, looking and sounding as if he were not surprised in the slightest that his youngest son was doing just that.

"Emotional, no," Tyrion assured the room, finally waddling over to an empty chair now that he felt like his legs could burden the effort. "I intend for my plea to be entirely logical."

"We all saw her commit the heinous act," Grand Maester Pycelle stated. "What use is a trial against the irrefutable proof our eyes have provided?"

Tyrion sent him a dirty look. Of course he had prepared for this question during his excruciatingly long hike up the stairs, but it still annoyed him to be asked. "Executing the daughter of one of the great Houses absent a trial is a poor precedent to set," he argued. "A precedent that would've cost me my life had it been set prior to my time in Lysa Arryn's custody."

"An irrelevant precedent for as long as we hold her sister," said Lord Baelish. It was true, Tyrion admitted internally, that Ned Stark would be unlikely to do anything foolish while they still held one of his children, regardless of what they had done to his other three.

"But are we certain we still have Sansa Stark?" asked Aegon, who had remained silent for so long Tyrion hadn't even noticed he was there. "You are short your Master of Laws, are you not? Had no one noticed?" Truthfully, Tyrion had not paid anyone in the room any mind aside from his sister and father. They were the ones who would make the decision, not the likes of Mace Tyrell, but now that he searched for the man, he did come up empty. "You ought to pay more attention to your alliances," he suggested.

Tyrion watched as his father glanced at Littlefinger, a silent command that the man immediately understood, standing up swiftly and exiting the room. Likely on his way to round up the Gold Cloaks, though it wouldn't matter. If the Tyrells had truly planned to leave the city with Sansa Stark, they were long gone by now. Tyrion cursed himself for not realizing it before it had happened. Willas Tyrell hadn't spoken to Arya Stark in months and he had seen them together at the wedding. How hadn't he known?

And yet … while it was certainly a blow to his family to have lost both a valuable hostage and alliance in the same stoke, it certainly did make Arya's life, and the decision around it, much more precarious.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Well, thanks to you lovely people I have rediscovered some of my love for this story. Seriously some of these recent reviews have been crazy nice and I highkey appreciate them for making me want to write again. I've deleted the last chapter I posted because I realized it really wasn't the way I wanted the story to go. Hopefully any of you who read that one don't mind. I think this one is a lot better anyway. :P


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